THE  BOY  WITH  THE 

PPERS 


FRANCIS  ROLT-WHEELER. 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 
WILLIAM  P.  WREDEN 


The  Boy  With  the  U.  S.  Trappers 


BOOKS   BY  FRANCIS   ROLT-WHEELER 


TIL  S.  Service  Series 

Illustrations  from  Photographs  taken  for  U.  S.  Government. 

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THE  BOY  WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 


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THE  MONSTER-HUNTERS 
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LOTHROP,  LEE  &  SHEPARD  CO.,  BOSTON 


Courtesy  of  "  Outing  "  Magazine. 

A  CALIFORNIA  HUNTER  AND  TRAPPER  OF  THE  PIONEER  DAYS. 


U.    S.    SERVICE    SERIES. 


THE  BOY  WITH 
THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

BY 

FRANCIS    ROLT-WHEELER 

With  Forty-four  Illustrations  from  Selected  Photographs 


BOSTON 

LOTHROP,  LEE  &  SHEPARD  CO. 


Published,  November,  1919 


Copyright,  1919, 
BY  LOTHBOP,  LEE  &  SHEPABD  Co. 


All  Riffhts  Reserved 


THE  EOT  WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 


florwoofc  prees 

BERWICK  &  SMITH  CO. 

NORWOOD,    MASS. 
U.    S.    A. 


TZ-7 


FOREWORD 

The  Author  desires  to  acknowledge  the  courtesy 
and  assistance  of  Mr.  E.  W.  Nelson,  Chief  of  the 
U.  S.  Biological  Survey,  of  Mr.  J.  S.  Ligon,  in 
charge  of  Biological  Survey  work  for  the  state 
of  New  Mexico,  and  of  hunters  and  trappers  at- 
tached to  the  Survey. 

Also  acknowledgment  is  made  to  the  various 
sportsmen's  magazines  throughout  the  country, 
both  for  permission  to  use  data  as  well  as  photo- 
graphs from  these  publications,  notably,  Forest 
and  Stream,  Outing,  Field  and  Stream,  and 
Hunter-Trader-Trapper.  Reference  also  is  made 
to  the  assistance  of  the  trapping  publications  of 
A.  S.  Harding,  notably  "Wolf  and  Coyote  Trap- 
ping," " Steel  Traps,"  "Deadfalls  and  Snares," 
and  "Fifty  Years  a  Trapper,"  also  to  Andersch 
Bros.'  "Hunters'  and  Trappers'  Guide,"  and  to 
Agnes  Laut's  "The  Story  of  the  Trapper." 


PREFACE 

The  trapper  lias  ever  been  the  symbol  to 
America  of  robust  manhood  and  of  the  desire  to 
press  forward  the  ideals  and  the  civilization  of 
the  United  States  to  their  farthest  bounds.  No 
country  has  been  too  wild  or  rugged  for  him,  no 
venture  too  daring,  no  peril  too  great.  Many  of 
the  frontier  heroes  of  America  were  trappers  and 
hunters. 

The  lure  of  trapping  is  not  gone,  on  the  con- 
trary, as  game  has  become  scarcer  and  the  re- 
quirements of  modern  life  sterner,  trapping  has 
become  more  difficult.  In  no  field  is  this  diffi- 
culty greater  than  in  the  work  undertaken  by  the 
U.  S.  Biological  Survey,  which  has  set  itself  the 
task  of  controlling  the  predatory  animals  of  the 
country,  the  ravages  of  which  cost  the  stock- 
raisers  and  farmers  of  the  United  States  tens  of 
millions  of  dollars  yearly. 

There  is  need  for  the  alei.  and  wary  woods- 
man, to-day,  as  there  ever  was.  There  is  need 
for  young  fellows  of  bravery,  determination,  and 


PREFACE  vii 

the  love  of  the  wild  in  their  veins.  To  show  the 
boys  of  America  how  splendid  is  the  work  of  the 
Government  trapper,  to  present  the  cunning  of 
the  hunted  animals,  to  show  the  conditions  of  mod- 
ern trapping,  to  explain  the  latest  and  most  ap- 
proved methods,  and,  above  all,  to  give  a  new 
insight  into  a  virile  and  thrilling  occupation,  done, 
not  for  gain,  but  for  the  betterment  of  the  United 
States,  is  the  aim  and  purpose  of 

THE  AUTHOR. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  I  PAGE 

GHOST  CANYON 1 

CHAPTER  II 
THE  GRIZZLY- WOMAN 35 

CHAPTER  III 
DOWNING  A  SELFISH  GREASER      .....      68 


CHAPTER  IV 
THE  COYOTE  DRIVE 102 

CHAPTER  V 

THE  SMELL  TELEPHONE 138 

CHAPTER  VI 
CAUGHT  IN  A  WILD  BEAST'S  DEN 171 

CHAPTER  VII 
EARTH'S  LARGEST  CARNIVORE 206 

CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  ENTRAPPED  BEAR 232 

CHAPTER  IX 
A  FIGHT  WITH  FIVE  GRIZZLIES      .....     261 

viii 


CONTENTS  ix 

CHAPTER  X  PAGE 

RAIDERS  OF  THE  NIGHT 290 

CHAPTER  XI 
CATCHING  THE  WEREWOLF        .  ...     338 

CHAPTER  XII 

THE  THREE-LEGGED  OUTLAW 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

A  California  Hunter  and  Trapper  of  the  Pioneer 

Days Frontispiece 

FACING 

Death  in  the  Path 14 

Bob-Cat  in  Tree,  with  Member  of  Roosevelt  Party  Photo- 
graphing It 22 

Find  the  Bob-Cat 22 

'Ware  the  Werewolf! 32 

Colonel  Roosevelt  Killing  a  Grizzly 50 

"Is  It  Straight?" 64 

Safe  from  the  Dogs  but  Not  from  a  Gun 80 

The  Cougar  Snarled  Viciously  at  the  Dogs  Below  ...  96 

Canada  Lynxes  Treed  by  Hunting-Dogs 96 

"Yap!  Yap!  Yap!  Yow-ee-ow-ow !"        110 

"The  Vagabond  Outcast  in  Gray" 110 

Boney  Moore  Holding  up  Live  Coyote 120 

Colonel  Roosevelt  and  the  Coyote 130 

Live  Coyote  Gagged  with  a  Handkerchief 136 

Live  Coyote  Afore;  Dead  Coyote  Aft 136 

Two  Coyotes  Trapped  at  the  Same  Time 146 

Cattle  Grazing  on  National  Forest  in  Colorado  ....  146 

Coyote  Trapped  by  Forest  Ranger 162 

Half  a  Million  Sheep  Destroyed  by  Coyotes  Yearly     .      .  162 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

FACING 

PAGE 

"The  Lean  Gray  Wolf  Came  Out  of  the  Wood"     .      .      .170 

Following  up  the  Trail 186 

Prehistoric  Man  and  the  Cave-Bear 216 

"With   a  Low   Growl,   the   She-Bear  Launched   Herself 

Upon  His  Back" 222 

"Though  Terribly  Clawed,  the  Captain  Staggered  Back 
to  the  Settlements" 222 

Wyoming  Black  Bear  Taking  His  Ease 238 

Old  Uncle  Ephraim 238 

Out  for  Their  First  Walk 250 

The  Bear  that  Climbs  Like  a  Man 260 

Any  Bear  up  a  Tree  is  a  Black  Bear 260 

The  Two-Hundreth  Christmas  Reception 284 

Pussy— but  not  Domestic ! 294 

"Don't  Go  Too  Close!" 294 

The  Full-Grown  Cougar  is  an  Ugly  Customer  to  Tackle 

if  the  First  Shot  is  not  Mortal 310 

A  Colorado  Bob-Cat  Brought  to  Bay.     This  Animal  had 

Already  Killed  Two  of  the  Dogs 310 

The  Children  Who  Stood  Off  a  Cougar 314 

Cougar  Solidly  Held  in  Trap 320 

Round-Up  on  a  National  Forest  in  Arizona 320 

The  Best-Hated  Animal  on  Earth 324 

The  Animal  Spirit  of  Evil 336 

"The  Hungry  Pack  was  on  Them !" 366 

A  Fight  Against  Awful  Odds 374 


THE  BOY  WITH  THE  U.  S. 
TRAPPERS 

CHAPTER  I 

GHOST   CANYON 

GAVAN  sat  on  an  outcrop  of  rock,  his  back 
against  the  cliff,  his  rifle  across  his  knees.  Al- 
though generally  impervious  to  fear,  he  now  felt 
horribly  afraid. 

The  sun,  rapidly  nearing  the  distant  horizon 
of  the  Jemez  Mountains,  seen  through  the  per- 
spective of  the  canyon,  threw  long  shadows  from 
a  small  cairn  of  stones,  hastily  piled  up  by  the 
boy's  hands.  It  was  all  that  he  had  been  able 
to  make  for  a  grave. 

Thirty  feet  farther  down  the  slope  lay  the  body 
of  a  mountain  lion,  the  last  glinting  rays  of  the 
sun  turning  to  orange  the  tawny  skin  of  the 
animal. 

Young  though  he  was,  Gavan  Keary  would 
usually  have  faced  a  night's  watch  in  the  moun- 


2        WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

tains  without  a  qualm.  Here  it  was  different. 
Ghost  Canyon  was  a  spot  that  even  the  most  reck- 
less of  cattle-punchers  avoided  after  nightfall. 

In  spite  of  all  terrors,  natural  or  supernatural, 
Gavan's  duty  seemed  to  him  clear.  Not  until  the 
morning  sun  rose  on  the  canyon  would  he  be 
justified  in  leaving  the  grave,  beneath  the  stones 
of  which  lay  his  cousin's  mangled  body.  "Blue 
Joe"  Keary  had  been  a  hard  man  and  rough,  but 
he  had  been  an  efficient  protector  to  the  lad  for 
several  years,  and  Gavan  felt  woefully  alone. 

It  seemed  incredible  that  so  old  a  hand  as  Blue 
Joe,  so  consummate  a  shot,  so  keen  a  hunter, 
should  have  come  to  his  death  from  a  mere  "var- 
mint," but  the  exploded  rifle  which  Gavan  had 
propped  up  against  the  grave  told  the  tale. 
Dead  his  cousin  was,  without  a  doubt.  Now,  be- 
fall what  might,  it  lay  upon  Gavan  to  see  that  the 
body  was  not  desecrated. 

Ordinarily,  Gavan  would  have  been  satisfied  to 
tramp  around  the  grave  a  few  times  to  put  the 
hated  man-smell  on  the  place  as  a  protection 
against  any  of  the  prowling  creatures  of  the  wild, 
but  Ghost  Canyon  was  not  like  any  other  place 
in  the  mountains.  Strange  creatures  were  said 
to  haunt  that  region  by  night,  creatures  which 


GHOST  CANYON  3 

would  pay  little  heed  to  a  rifle  shot.  None  the 
less,  despite  his  superstition,  Gavan  felt  solid 
comfort  in  the  knowledge  that  he  had  his  rifle 
with  him  and  more  than  enough  ammunition. 

Between  where  he  sat  and  the  pile  of  stones 
that  he  was  watching,  the  ground,  with  its  alter- 
nation of  juniper,  sage-brush  and  prickly-pear, 
was  blotched  with  red  stains,  now  turning  black, 
and  the  soil  itself  showed  the  marks  of  a  struggle. 
The  ruddy  glow  from  the  sunset  sky  made  plainly 
visible  the  footprints,  hoof-marks  and  cougar 
tracks  which  explained  the  tragic  story. 

Of  book-knowledge  Gavan  Keary  possessed  but 
little,  but  he  was  an  apt  scholar  in  that  great  book 
of  which  every  day  and  every  night  inscribes  a 
new  page — the  book  of  woods  life.  Tracks  are 
not  easy  to  read,  even  for  the  expert — it  is  only 
the  tenderfoot  who  thinks  they  are — but  Gavan 
had  pieced  out  the  story,  mark  by  mark,  until 
he  knew  what  had  happened  almost  as  clearly  as 
though  he  had  seen  it  all  with  his  own  eyes. 

Although  mountan  lions  were  not  uncommon 
in  that  part  of  New  Mexico,  several  having  been 
treed  by  dogs  in  cottonwoods  or  yellow  pine  trees 
and  then  shot  by  the  hunters,  this  one  was  the  very 
first  that  the  boy  had  seen.  He  had  observed  the 


4        WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

tracks  of  the  great  cat  numberless  times,  but,  as 
Gavan  knew  well,  it  is  one  of  the  shyest  of  all 
animals,  hunting  by  night,  or  during  dusk  and 
dawn.  It  takes  good,  especially-trained  dogs  to 
rout  out  a  mountain  lion,  or  cougar,  and  run  him 
down. 

This  animal,  now  lying  dead  at  the  edge  of  the 
pinon  thicket  down  the  hill,  had  committed  an 
unpardonable  crime.  It  had  killed  a  young  and 
valued  colt  in  the  home  corral,  and  Blue  Joe 
Keary  had  vowed  he  would  not  rest  till  he  had  se- 
cured vengeance. 

He  had  secured  his  vengeance,  indeed,  and  he 
was  at  rest. 

It  had  been  a  bitter  fight,  a  fight  to  the  death. 
Not  only  was  the  hunter  slain,  not  only  was  the 
cougar  killed,  but  the  two  dogs  had  been  killed 
also.  Gavan  had  laid  the  bodies  of  the  two  faith- 
ful hounds  at  Blue  Joe's  feet  and  covered  them 
also  with  great  stones,  not  without  the  thought 
that  there  must  be  a  place,  somewhere,  for  dogs 
that  had  given  their  lives  to  try  to  save  their 
masters. 

Duff,  the  boy's  own  dog,  a  nondescript  with  a 
good  nose  and  an  astonishing  gift  for  following 
a  trail,  but  unfortunately  possessed  of  a  strong 


GHOST  CANYON  5 

yellow  streak,  was  stretched  out  on  the  ground, 
his  head  between  his  paws,  sniffing  uneasily. 
Gavan's  pony,  hobbled,  was  grazing  at  the  scanty 
herbage  a  couple  of  hundred  yards  away. 

Events  had  happened  swiftly  since  the  early 
part  of  the  afternoon,  when  Blue  Joe's  horse, 
riderless,  came  tearing  home  to  the  corral.  The 
boy  had  been  conscious  of  a  presentiment  of  evil 
all  the  day,  and  Duff  had  been  behaving  queerly. 
Two  or  three  times,  shortly  after  midday,  the 
hound  had  set  up  a  long,  high  howl,  mournful  in 
the  extreme,  not  unlike  the  howl  of  a  coyote. 
Gavan  had  tried  to  pacify  his  inner  fears  with 
the  thought  that  it  was  only  because  Duff  had 
been  left  behind  from  the  hunt  that  he  expressed 
himself  thus  distressfully,  but  in  his  heart  of 
hearts,  the  boy  knew  otherwise. 

Woods-wise,  he  kne\*  that  animals  have  a 
curious  prescience  of  disaster.  He  remembered 
how  Si  Buckthorne's  dog  had  broken  away  from 
his  cabin  the  day  that  his  master's  horse  put  his 
foot  in  a  badger  hole  and  fell,  breaking  his  leg 
and  throwing  his  rider  heavily  on  a  bowlder ;  and 
how  the  dog,  after  finding  the  wounded  man,  had 
made  his  way  back  to  camp  and  led  a  rescue  party 
to  the  place.  He  had  heard  how  the  former 


6        WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

sheriff's  dog  had  howled  the  long  night  through 
on  that  famous  raid  when  a  vigilance  commit- 
tee had  tried  conclusions  with  a  gang  of  cattle- 
rustlers  and  several  men  on  both  sides  had  bit 
the  dust,  the  sheriff  among  them. 

Wherefore,  when  Duff  suddenly  took  to  howl- 
ing in  the  middle  of  the  day,  Gavan  had  grown 
uneasy,  his  fears  being  further  heightened  by  the 
return  of  Blue  Joe's  horse  without  its  rider. 

It  had  taken  him  but  a  few  minutes  to  catch 
and  saddle  his  own  pony,  to  stuff  some  pan- 
bread  in  one  pocket  and  a  bottle  of  cordial  in 
the  other  and  to  set  off  in  the  direction  of  Ghost 
Canyon,  in  which  general  direction,  he  knew,  his 
cousin  had  started  off  that  morning.  After  a 
couple  of  hours'  riding,  Duff  had  picked  up  the 
trail. 

The  keen-nosed  dog  l^ad  led  the  boy  to  a  hole 
in  the  rocks  and  there  his  yellow  streak  asserted 
itself.  He  bayed  outside,  but  would  not  go  in. 
This  had  put  Gavan  in  a  predicament.  Though 
by  no  means  lacking  in  courage,  he  realized  that 
it  would  be  foolhardy  for  him  to  creep  on  all- 
fours  into  such  a  place,  for  he  could  not  see  to 
use  his  rifle  and  if,  as  was  possible,  the  she-cat 
were  there  and  there  were  cubs  in  the  den,  even 


GHOST  CANYON  7 

the  natural  cowardice  of  the  mountain  lion  would 
not  keep  her  from  giving  fight. 

In  this  strait,  Gavan  thought  of  a  plan  he  had 
heard  recounted  by  Quick  Feather,  the  old  Indian 
hunter  who  lived  in  Taos  pueblo,  and  who  had 
some  farming  land  near  the  Keary  Eanch. 
Rapidly  interlocking  the  twigs  of  a  couple  of 
branches  together,  so  that  they  formed  a  rack 
somewhat  like  a  flat  basket,  he  laid  dry  sticks 
thereon  and  set  fire  to  them,  finally,  when  they 
were  blazing,  throwing  on  the  fire  some  growing 
shoots  of  rabbit-brush.  This  sent  up  a  thick, 
choking  smoke.  Then,  with  a  long  piece  of  sap- 
ling— to  get  which  he  had  been  forced  to  make 
a  considerable  climb  down  into  the  ravine — 
Gavan  thrust  the  smoking  mass  far  into  the  cave, 
then  jumped  to  one  side  with  his  rifle  ready,  in 
case  any  animals  should  come  out. 

The  ruse  failed  utterly.  Not  a  growl,  not  a 
snarl,  not  even  a  spit,  came  from  the  cave.  Evi- 
dently it  was  empty.  The  dogs  must  have  routed 
out  the  mountain  lion  from  its  den,  earlier  in  the 
day. 

Circling  round,  making  wider  and  wider  casts, 
Gavan  kept  Duff  at  work  until  at  last  the  dog 
found  the  trail  again  and  set  off,  giving  voice 


8        WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

with  the  deep  bay  of  a  mongrel  hound.  Since 
there  were  no  signs  of  blood  on  the  trail,  Gavan 
judged,  and  rightly,  that  the  dogs  had  run  far  in 
advance  of  Blue  Joe,  and  that  the  cougar  had  been 
started  before  the  hunter  had  come  within  gun- 
shot. 

For  a  short  distance  the  trail  seemed  easy  to 
follow,  for  Duff  ran  along  steadily,  never  at  fault. 
Yet  Gavan  felt  puzzled.  Why  did  the  trail  con- 
tinue toward  the  upper,  rocky  slopes?  A 
mountain  lion,  driven  from  its  den  and  chased 
by  dogs — which  can  outrun  it — almost  invariably 
makes  for  the  timber,  where,  like  any  other  cat, 
it  runs  up  a  tree.  The  animal  thus  treed,  the 
hunter  has  ample  time  to  ride  up,  and  a  clean 
rifle  shot  ends  the  career  of  the  beast  of  prey. 

Instead  of  turning  down  creek  toward  the 
timber,  however,  it  was  evident  from  the  trail 
which  Duff  was  following,  that  this  mountain  lion 
had  traveled  at  a  good  speed  over  the  stony  slopes, 
difficult  ground  for  the  pursuing  dogs  and  even 
more  hindering  for  Blue  Joe's  cow-pony.  The 
slopes  of  the  Sangre  de  Cristo  Mountains  are 
rough  in  the  extreme. 

Either  this  particular  mountain  lion  had  been 
hunted  before,  the  boy  premised,  or  else  it  pos- 


GHOST  CANYON  9 

sessed  an  instinctive  wisdom.  As  Gavan  well 
knew,  every  wild  animal  is  an  individual  as  well 
as  the  unit  of  a  species.  It  is  never  safe  to  as- 
sume that  the  general  customs  of  any  given 
species  of  wild  animal  will  always  be  carried  out 
by  every  member  of  that  species.  Every  animal 
has  a  separate  and  distinct  personality,  if  not  to 
the  same  extent  as  Man,  at  least  in  the  same 
manner.  This  mountain  lion,  for  example,  was 
keeping  away  from  the  temptation  of  a  refuge 
in  the  timber  as  clearly  as  though  it  understood 
what  danger  lay  therein. 

As  Gavan  rode  hard  after  Duff,  halting  when 
the  hound  lost  the  trail  and  dashing  on  when  he 
picked  it  up  again,  the  boy  seemed  to  see  clearly 
before  him  the  scene  that  had  been  enacted  over 
this  same  ground  but  a  few  hours  before.  He 
could  conceive  the  tawny,  half-visible  body  of  the 
cougar,  streaking  along  the  mountainside  with 
long,  lithe  cat-like  runs  and  leaps;  the  hounds, 
their  tongues  hanging  out,  eager  for  the  prey, 
laboring  over  the  rough  ground  which  impeded 
their  speed;  behind,  Blue  Joe,  on  his  pony,  spur- 
ring viciously  and  grumbling  fiercely  because  he 
feared  that  the  mountain  lion  might  escape. 

Over  the  saddle-back  and  on  the  down  slope 


io      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

of  the  next  mountain  the  ground  opened  out  into 
a  characteristic  mountain  meadow,  green  and 
grassy.  Duff  struck  straight  across.  On  the 
farther  edge  of  the  stretch,  Gravan  pulled  up 
swiftly.  A  small  patch  of  blood  was  visible,  at 
which  the  dog  sniffed  uneasily.  The  ground  was 
too  hard  to  show  a  mark,  but  it  was  evident  that 
one  or  both  of  the  dogs  had  overtaken  the  chase, 
the  level  ground  having  given  their  greater  speed 
its  opportunity. 

There  were  not  signs  enough  to  show  exactly 
what  had  happened.  Either  one  of  the  dogs  had 
got  a  grip  and  wounded  the  cougar,  or,  as  seemed 
more  probable,  one  of  them  had  leapt  for  a  grip 
and  been  tossed  off  with  a  sidewise  slash  of  that 
cruel  head.  The  boy  knew  well  enough  that  the 
cougar  would  not  challenge  in  the  open,  that  he 
would  not  turn  at  bay  unless  cornered.  It  seemed 
sure,  therefore,  this  blood  showed  that  one  of  the 
two  dogs  was  wounded. 

On  the  farther  side  of  this  stretch  was  a  welter 
of  rocks  and  thence  the  trail  led  into  some  chap- 
arral, all  low  scrub,  mainly  of  Arizona  live  oak, 
willow  and  gnarled  blue  spruce,  without  a  single 
tree  large  enough  to  bear  the  great  cat's  weight. 
Through  this  tangle  the  lithe  body  of  the  cougar 


C>.  xm^« — "•  *-*^LJT 

avuoa  **  True  Lynx  (w 


12      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

slipped  easily,  increasing  the  lead  betweei!  him 
and  his  pursuers. 

Beyond  the  chaparral,  only  faint  tracks  were 
to  be  seen  here  and  there,  and  these,  though  diffi- 
cult to  read,  told  a  definite  story.  The  round 
cat-prints  were  closer  together,  showing  that  the 
leaps  were  shorter,  and  the  rear  of  the  foot  was 
now  making  an  impression,  showing  that  springi- 
ness was  being  lost  from  the  step.  The  mountain 
lion,  no  match  in  speed  for  the  dogs,  was  tiring. 
The  intervention  of  the  chaparral,  however,  had 
given  him  gtart  enough  to  reach  the  entrance  of 
Ghost  Canyon,  though,  probably,  with  the  dogs 
at  his  very  heels  and  Blue  Joe  not  very  far  be- 
hind. 

In  Ghost  Canyon  itself,  a  small  gorge  cutting 
into  Tom  Creek,  the  tracks  became  confused,  and 
it  took  all  of  Gavan's  woodcraft  to  read  the  story. 
For  that  matter,  the  boy  could  not  be  positive 
that  his  interpretation  was  right.  All  that  he 
could  do  was  to  piece  the  evidence  together  into 
a  connected  whole  which  would  explain  the  signs 
he  saw.  It  seemed  clear,  however,  by  the  blurred 
marks  near  a  thicket  half-way  up  the  canyon, 
that  the  dogs  had  again  overtaken  the  mountain 
lion  and  pinned  him  down. 


GHOST  CANYON  13 

Just  at  this  point,  the  hoof  tracks  showed 
clearly  where  the  pony  had  been  stopped  sud- 
denly. Footmarks  revealed  the  fact  that  Blue  Joe 
had  dismounted.  This  could  only  be  for  the  pur- 
pose of  taking  a  long  shot  at  the  mountain  lion 
before  the  animal  made  good  its  escape  into  the 
thicket.  The  ravine  of  Ghost  Canyon,  higher  up, 
was  impassable. 

This  should  have  been  the  end  of  the  mountain 
lion,  for  Blue  Joe  was  a  dead  shot.  Evidently, 
however,  the  animal  was  half  hidden  or  the 
hunter's  aim  was  not  true,  for  Gavan,  when  he 
had  examined  the  body  of  the  cougar,  had  ob- 
served a  deep  flesh  wound  where  the  bullet  had 
plowed  through,  four  inches  above  the  joint  of  the 
fore-leg,  at  which  point  a  shot  directed  for  the 
heart  should  have  penetrated,  and  thereby  have 
saved  his  cousin's  life. 

The  actual  cause  for  this  ineffective  shot  could 
not  be  traced,  but  Gavan  guessed  that  perhaps 
his  cousin  had  been  afraid  to  fire  low  for  fear 
of  shooting  the  dogs.  Still  more  probable  was 
the  likelihood  that  the  hunter  had  kept  the  bridle 
of  his  pony  over  his  arm  when  firing,  lest  the 
horse  should  bolt  at  the  hated  smell  of  the  cougar, 
and  that,  just  at  the  moment  of  pulling  the 


i4      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

trigger,  the  pony  jerked  his  head,  deflecting  the 
hunter's  aim. 

Wounded  by  the  bullet,  and,  apparently,  with 
one  if  not  both  of  the  dogs  hanging  on  to  him, 
the  mountain  lion  had  bounded  into  the  thicket. 

The  scene  in  the  thicket  was  largely  a  matter 
of  guesswork.  The  wounds  in  the  cougar's  neck 
showed  that  one  of  the  dogs,  at  least,  had  se- 
cured a  powerful  grip.  This  grip,  however,  had 
been  partly  broken,  or  at  least  weakened,  by  the 
dragging  underbrush.  The  other  dog,  probably, 
had  pinned  the  animal,  for,  as  the  ground  showed, 
the  cougar  had  rolled  over.  Unwitting  of  the  ter- 
rible claws,  the  leading  dog  had  tried  to  shift  his 
grip  higher  on  the  throat,  but  he  was  not  quick 
enough,  and  the  sickle-like  claws  had  toni  away 
almost  the  whole  side  of  the  dog's  head  and  neck. 
With  one  enemy  thus  disposed  of,  the  cougar 
shook  off  the  other. 

This  was,  undoubtedly,  only  a  matter  of  a  few 
seconds,  but  it  gave  Blue  Joe  time  to  come  up. 
He  was  leading  his  pony,  ready  for  another  shot, 
for,  undoubtedly,  the  howls  of  the  wounded  and 
furious  dogs  told  him  that  the  mountain  lion  was 
at  bay.  The  hunter  advanced  slowly.  He  knew 
that,  however  eager  the  cougar  may  be  to  dodge 


Courtesy  of  -  field  and  Stream." 

DEATH  IN  THE  PATH. 

Only  the  most  reckless  hunter  will  close  in  on  a  wounded  cougar.     This 

drawing  is  of  a  puma,  the  southern  name  of  the 

lighter-colored  species  of  cougar. 


GHOST  CANYON  15 

a  fight,  when  cornered  he  is  a  very  dangerous  foe. 

When  he  had  reached  within  a  few  feet  of  the 
thicket,  the  infuriated  and  wounded  cougar,  his 
green  eyes  blazing,  his  ears  laid  back,  bloody  foam 
on  his  jaws,  sprang  out  from  the  bushes  on  the 
hunter.  Blue  Joe  had  not  bee<i  expecting  this,  for 
rarely  does  a  cougar  charge.  He  threw  his  rifle 
to  his  shoulder  and  fired  at  point  blank  range. 

The  gun,  an  old  weapon,  exploded,  either  from 
a  weakness  in  the  metal  resulting  from  years  of 
use,  or  because  of  a  defective  cartridge. 

In  a  second  bound,  the  cougar  was  on  him. 

Evidently  Blue  Joe,  in  a  reflex  action  of  self- 
defense,  must  have  tried  to  use  the  butt  of  the 
gun  as  a  club,  for  the  weapon  was  bent  as  though 
it  had  been  used  for  a  blow,  but,  as  Gavan  sur- 
mised, there  had  been  no  sweep  for  the  stroke, 
for  though  it  fell,  and  fell  fair,  it  failed  to  break 
the  great  cat's  backbone. 

The  tracks  now  became  too  confused  for  the 
details  of  the  story  to  be  clearly  read,  but  it  was 
evident  that  Blue  Joe  had  been  thrown  to  the 
ground  by  the  shock  of  the  animal's  spring,  even 
though  the  force  of  that  leap  had  been  partly  de- 
flected by  the  blow  from  the  gun-butt.  Whether 
the  hunter  had  tried  to  jump  back  and  missed  his 


i8      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

The  sharp  teeth  of  the  wounded  feline  had  ended 
the  unequal  battle  and  it  had  crawled  toward  the 
thicket  to  hide  and  die.  Loss  of  blood  and  the 
deep  internal  wound  caused  by  Blue  Joe's  hunt- 
ing knife,  however,  had  prevented  the  mountain 
lion  reaching  this  place  of  secrecy,  and  it  had  died 
before  finding  shelter. 

When  Gavan  reached  the  fatal  place,  guided 
by  Duff,  the  strife  had  been  over  for  hours  and 
the  bodies  lay  stiff.  His  cousin  was  crumpled 
sidewise  on  the  bloodstained  ground;  one  of  the 
faithful  hounds  had  crawled  forward,  when  dying, 
to  give  a  last  lick  to  his  master's  hand;  the  cougar 
lay  dead  at  the  edge  of  the  thicket;  the  other 
hound  was  stretched  out  in  the  bushes.  Hunters 
and  hunted  alike  had  found  a  surcease  to  their 
mutual  hate. 

Thus  the  boy  read  the  story  from  the  confused 
tracks  on  the  ground,  from  the  exploded  and 
battered  rifle,  from  the  character  of  the  wounds 
upon  the  bodies  of  the  slain,  and  from  the  hunting- 
knife  still  clenched  by  the  rigid  grasp  of  death  in 
the  hunter's  hand.  Possibly  the  actual  sequence 
of  events  might  have  been  different  in  several  de- 
tails, for  the  tragedies  of  the  wild  rarely  happen 


GHOST  CANYON  19 

twice  in  exactly  the  same  manner,  but  the  main 
facts  were  there. 

As  soon  as  he  had  definitely  decided  that  Blue 
Joe  was  dead  and  that  it  would  be  in  vain  for  him 
to  ride  the  necessary  thirty  miles  to  bring  a 
doctor  from  Taos,  Gavan  set  himself  to  pile  a 
heap  of  stones  over  the  body  in  order  to  keep 
away  any  marauding  animals,  though,  as  lie  knew, 
there  are  few  creatures  that  will  touch  man- 
flesh,  and  none — not  even  the  coyote — will  do  so 
in  summer,  when  other  game  is  plentiful.  Turkey 
buzzards,  however,  are  not  so  particular. 

This  duty  done,  Gavan  was  ready  to  ride  to 
XO  ranch,  on  which  the  tragedy  had  taken  place, 
to  give  information  of  his  cousin's  death,  in  case 
the  coroner  at  Taos  should  deem  it  necessary 
to  make  an  investigation.  Just  as  the  lad  was 
setting  foot  to  stirrup,  however,  the  thought  oc- 
curred to  him  that  while  the  precautions  he  had 
taken  were  ordinarily  quite  sufficient,  conditions 
here  were  a  little  different. 

He  was  forgetting  that  this  was  Ghost  Canyon! 

Strange  stories  were  told  about  this  place. 
Creatures  that  seemed  neither  animal  nor  human 
were  said  to  haunt  the  Canyon,  deeds  that  were 


16      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

footing  or  whether  the  mountain  lion  had  actually 
clawed  him,  nothing  remained  to  tell. 

Blue  Joe  had  been  hurled  violently  backwards, 
that  much  was  clear.  If  he  had  been  able  to  turn 
on  his  face  as  he  went  down,  he  might  have  saved 
his  throat,  but  the  hunter  had  evidently  at  the 
same  time  drawn  his  hunting-knife. 

This  move,  which  Blue  Joe  had  designed  as  a 
last  means  of  saving  his  life,  was  the  cause  of 
his  losing  it.  Had  he  simply  twisted  as  he  fell, 
landed  face  downwards  and  lain  still,  his  head 
drawn  in  as  close  to  the  shoulder-blades  as  pos- 
sible, undoubtedly  he  would  have  been  terribly 
clawed  about  the  shoulders  and  scalp,  but,  equally 
probably,  he  would  not  have  been  killed. 

A  man  lying  on  his  face  exposes  no  vital  part 
to  a  clawed  animal.  A  man  lying  on  his  back  will 
be  almost  surely  torn  in  pieces.  There  are 
numberless  cases  in  which  men,  who  have  been  at- 
tacked by  wild  animals  they  have  wounded  in  the 
chase,  have  saved  their  lives  by  this  simple  de- 
fense. 

Blue  Joe,  however,  had  not  been  thinking  of 
escape  by  this  passive  method.  He  was  still 
fighting.  In  drawing  his  knife  and  striking  up- 
wards at  the  cougar  as  he  fell — a  most  compli- 


GHOST  CANYON  17 

cated  group  of  motions,  when  analyzed — he  had 
not  been  able  to  twist  over  and  fall  directly  on 
his  face,  but  had  struck  the  ground  sidewise. 
The  blade  of  the  hunting  knife  had  sunk  deep 
into  the  animal's  body,  causing  a  mortal,  but 
not  immediately  fatal,  wound.  It  had  not  reached 
the  heart. 

The  added  pain,  however,  had  increased  the 
mountain  lion's  ferocity,  and  it  had  clawed  and 
bitten  its  victim,  one  of  the  claws  ripping  into  the 
soft  flesh  at  the  side  of  the  throat  and  cutting 
the  jugular  vein,  and,  probably,  the  external 
carotid  artery.  The  size  of  the  blood-pool  in 
which  Gavan  had  found  his  cousin  suggested  that 
death  had  been  speedy  and  painless.  At  least 
Blue  Joe  had  not  suffered  the  agony  of  being 
mangled  and  conscious  withal. 

The  remaining  dog,  the  one  which  had  first  been 
wounded  in  the  shoulder,  and  which  had  been 
thrown  off  during  the  fight  in  the  thicket,  had 
leapt  again  at  the  cougar  while  the  latter  stood 
upon  its  victim,  tearing  him.  Of  this  last  tussle 
there  was  little  clew  save  the  terrible  wounds  made 
by  the  hound's  teeth  in  the  neck  and  throat  of  the 
cougar,  and  the  raking  gashes  of  the  great  cat's 
claws  which  had  literally  torn  the  dog  to  death. 


20      WITH  THE  ,U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

only  told  in  whispers  were  always  located  here. 
There  was  the  story  about  the  Wolf-Woman 
who — 

Gavan  shivered  and  swung  into  the  saddle. 

The  feel  of  the  pony  beneath  him,  however, 
quickly  checked  his  fear  and  he  reined  in.  It 
was  not  far  from  sunset,  now. 

The  boy  looked  back  at  the  cairn  of  stones 
and  hesitated.  If  he  should  gallop  away  from 
Ghost  Canyon  because  of  his  superstitious  fears, 
and,  in  the  morning,  the  grave  should  be  disturbed, 
how  could  he  forgive  himself?  The  mere  idea 
of  staying  in  that  haunted  spot  the  whole  night 
through  sent  a  prickling  sensation  down  the  lad's 
back,  and  gave  him  a  hollow  sensation  of  fear  as 
though  he  had  not  eaten  for  several  days. 

But  he  turned  back  into  the  canyon,  dismounted, 
unsaddled  and  hobbled  the  pony.  He  threw 
some  more  stones  on  the  pile,  to  make  it  all  the 
safer.  Then,  taking  advantage  of  the  waning 
light,  he  hunted  for  a  place  whence  he  could  watch 
without  being  too  conspicuous  himself,  and  where, 
at  the  same  time,  he  could  not  be  taken  by  sur- 
prise from  the  rear.  The  friendly  sound  of  the 
rushing  waters  of  Tom  Creek  not  more  than  two 
hundred  yards  away,  sounded  in  his  ears. 


GHOST  CANYON  21 

Then,  whistling  Duff  to  his  side — though,  in- 
deed, the  dog  showed  little  desire  to  be  away  from 
his  young  master — Gavan  settled  himself  in  this 
niche  with  his  back  to  the  cliff,  saw  that  his  rifle 
was  in  order,  and  commenced  a  frugal  supper 
from  the  pan-bread  and  bacon  that  he  had  put 
into  his  pocket  in  case  Blue  Joe  should  have  been 
in  need  of  it.  Before  he  had  finished  eating,  the 
twilight  was  faint  in  the  western  sky  and  the 
stars  had  begun  to  show  their  shining.  Night 
had  come. 

Ghost  Canyon,  like  any  other  place  in  the  wild, 
was  full  of  night  sounds.  Never  until  that  night 
had  Gavan  realized  so  acutely  the  myriad  voices 
of  nature.  He  had  known,  vaguely,  that  a  forest, 
a  wood,  or  even  a  field,  is  a  confused  orchestra 
of  music  to  sharply  listening  ears,  but  he  had  not 
realized  that  even  so  deserted  a  spot  as  this  rocky 
canyon  would  have  a  vivid  life  of  its  own.  His 
ears,  made  preternaturally  acute  by  anxiety, 
heard  a  thousand  noises  that  would  have  escaped 
his  ears  had  he  been  walking  or  riding.  Indeed, 
many  of  them,  if  not  most  of  them,  would  have 
been  hushed. 

All  the  wild  world  hushes  itself  to  stillness  when 
Man  walks  abroad. 


22      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

Man  may  walk  through  a  forest  and  see  nothing 
of  wild  life,  but,  for  every  hundred  steps  he  takes, 
there  are  as  many  pairs  of  eyes  watching  him. 
Overhead  there  may  be  the  fierce  glare  of  a  bay 
lynx  crouched  upon  a  branch,  and  by  his  feet 
there  will  be  the  moveless  fear  of  a  rabbit  on  its 
form.  The  bird  world  is  awake  to  him,  from  the 
soaring  scrutiny  of  a  hawk  to  the  beady-eyed 
watchfulness  of  a  mother  warbler.  The  weasel, 
which  fears  little,  and  the  shrew,  which  fears 
everything,  will  alike  hide  or  congeal  into  rigidity 
as  Man  passes  by.  And  who  shall  measure  the 
number  of  creatures  of  the  insect  world  that 
scuttle  to  their  holes  in  the  ground  or  take 
shelter  behind  stone  or  leaf  or  twig  at  the  earth- 
shaking  tread  of  the  intruder!  For,  in  the  woods, 
Man  is  ever  and  always  an  intruder. 

Stillness  is  the  animal's  chief  protection. 
Well  do  the  woods  folk  know  how  extraor- 
dinarily difficult  it  is  to  see  forms  that  are  mo- 
tionless. The  old  legend  of  the  Gorgon's  Head 
which  turned  all  that  looked  upon  her  to  stone, 
is  true  in  Nature  wherever  Man  stirs,  save  that 
the  spell  is  broken  as  soon  as  he  is  gone. 

To  the  woods  folk,  any  place  untouched  by 
Man,  and,  in  a  lesser  degree,  every  cultivated 


Copyright  by  Alexander  Lambert,  M.I). 

BOB-CAT  IN  TREE,  WITH  MEMBER  OF  ROOSEVELT  PARTY  PHOTO- 
GRAPHING IT. 


Copyright  by  Alexander  Lambert,  M.D. 

FIND  THE  BOB-CAT! 

An  excellent  test  for  eyesight.     The  animal  is  a  trifle  below  the  exact 

middle  of  the  picture.     A  magni  lying-glass  will  show 

the  head  and  the  expression  clearly. 


GHOST  CANYON  23 

field  and  garden  also,  is  not  a  silent  place,  lonely 
and  forsaken.  It  is  a  place  of  tumult,  a  crowded 
metropolis,  a  battle-ground  so  full  of  life  and 
competition  that  only  by  the  hardest  kind  of  work 
can  shelter  and  food  be  provided,  only  by  the 
strictest  vigilance  can  safety  be  assured.  No 
block  in  the  heart  of  the  busiest  city  of  the  world 
is  so  full  of  human  life,  as  any  acre  of  the  woods 
is  full  of  woods  life. 

There  is  more  than  a  mere  simile  in  this.  Just 
as  Man,  living  in  the  midst  of  his  city,  can  dis- 
tinguish, almost  without  noticing,  a  thousand  dif- 
ferent sounds,  so  can  the  woods  folk.  The  rattle 
of  a  cart,  the  throb  of  a  motor-car,  the  clank  of 
a  street-car  gong,  the  cries  of  the  newsboys,  the 
slamming  of  doors,  the  ringing  of  bells,  the  clamor 
of  conversation,  all  these  are  heard  and  yet  un- 
heard. But  let  some  one  unusual  noise  mingle 
with  all  these,  the  wail  of  a  fire  siren  or  the  roar 
of  an  aeroplane,  and  every  ear  in  the  city  will 
pick  it  out  and  every  man  stand  to  listen. 

So,  in  the  woods,  of  all  the  medley  of  sounds, 
the  ears  of  the  tiniest  creature  can  detect  instantly 
the  voices  and  movements  of  friend  or  foe.  It 
is  for  this  reason  that  the  hunters  of  the  wild 
are  silent  creatures,  possessing  either  incredible 


24      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

skill  in  stalking  or  incredible  patience  in  waiting 
for  their  prey.  One  of  the  most  constant 
mysteries  to  Man  is  the  movement  of  heavy 
animals  in  the  woods.  A  bear,  though  weighing 
six  to  ten  times  as  much  as  a  man,  if  he  wishes 
can  move  so  silently  that  the  sharpest  human  ears 
cannot  hear  a  sound.  More  wonderful  still,  a  bull 
moose,  with  huge  spreading  horns,  will  fade 
through  dense  woods  like  a  ghost,  although  it 
would  seem  that  his  horns  would  be  entangled  in 
overhead  branches  with  every  step  he  takes. 

If,  however,  a  hunter,  man  or  boy,  will  go  into 
the  woods  at  night,  find  a  comfortable  place  to  sit 
or  lie,  where  he  will  not  have  to  move  so  much  as 
a  finger,  and  wait,  he  will  be  rewarded  by  hearing 
the  faint  orchestra  of  several  thousand  tiny  in- 
struments commence  its  nightly  concert.  An  ex- 
pert naturalist  will  be  able  to  pick  out  thirty  or 
forty  of  such  sounds.  But,  since  the  human  ear 
is  a  very  clumsy  instrument,  unable  to  hear  either 
sounds  that  are  very  low  or  those  that  are  very 
high,  it  is  well  to  remember  that  the  little 
creatures  of  the  wild  will  not  only  hear  more,  but 
can  distinguish  the  sounds  better.  There  is  no 
silence  to  sharp  ears.  Some  measure  of  all  this 
came  to  Gavan,  as  he  sat  in  the  night,  listening. 


GHOST  CANYON  25 

Yet  many  more  of  the  woods  folk  depend  less 
on  their  ears  than  on  their  noses.  There  are  as 
many  scents  in  the  wild  as  there  are  noises. 
Every  plant  or  tree  has  its  own  characteristic  per- 
fume, every  animal  gives  forth  its  own  savor. 
Odors  may  attract  or  they  may  repel.  The  Man- 
smell,  to  the  woods  folk,  always  spells  danger. 

It  is  worthy  of  note  that  smell  is  a  much  more 
complicated  matter  than  is  generally  supposed. 
While,  in  many  cases,  what  is  known  as  odor  con- 
sists of  incredibly  small  particles  or  molecules  of 
matter  dispersed  into  the  air,  and  therefore 
carried — as  dust  might  be  carried — by  the  wind, 
yet,  in  other  cases,  odors  seem  to  follow  the  much 
more  complex  laws  of  radiant  heat.  One  may 
stand  to  windward  of  a  fire  and  yet  be  warm. 
The  heat  is  therefore  radiating  against  the  wind. 
In  similar  fashion,  a  hunter  may  creep  up  wind  so 
silently  and  stealthily  that  he  has  not  made  a 
sound,  and  with  such  care  in  relation  to  the  direc- 
tion of  the  wind  that  never  once  has  the  breeze 
carried  his  scent  to  the  object  of  the  chase,  and  yet, 
sometimes  at  great  distances,  the  keen  nose  of  a 
deer,  for  example,  will  scent  danger,  the  sentinel 
will  alarm  the  herd  and  all  chance  of  a  successful 
shot  is  gone. 


26      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

Old  hunters  knew  this  well,  and  the  Indians  of 
the  Canadian  forests,  who  lived  largely  by  still- 
hunting,  used  to  call  it  the  "back  smell."  Iro- 
quois  hunters  used  to  smear  themselves  all  over 
with  bear  grease,  so  that,  in  event  of  the  "back 
scent"  reaching  the  game,  the  odor  would  be  that 
of  bear,  a  familiar  and  friendly  odor  to  those 
denizens  of  the  woods  which  they  were  hunting 
for  game.  Though  the  bear  is  a  carnivorous 
animal,  eating  flesh,  at  times,  he  is  omnivorous. 
He  eats  insects  as  well  as  a  great  amount  of  vege- 
table food,  acorns  and  wild  nuts,  to  change  the  diet 
of  mice,  ground  squirrels  and  marmots  which  his 
great  claws  enable  him  to  dig  out  of  their  bur- 
rows with  great  rapidity.  Pioneer  hunters  used 
to  adopt  the  same  method  of  disguising  the  man- 
smell  when  setting  traps.  Many  old-time  trappers 
used  to  smear  traps,  hands  and  shoes  with  catnip 
paste  or  with  a  mink  scent  made  up  of  equal  parts 
of  decayed  fish  oil  and  honey  to  which  was  added 
one-eighth  of  the  quantity  of  essence  of  pepper- 
mint, or  anise. 

The  "back  scent"  is  one  of  the  mysteries  of 
nature.  Fabre,  one  of  the  most  careful  of  all 
naturalists,  found  that  the  odor  from  a  butterfly, 
so  faint  that  it  was  absolutely  unnoticeable  to  the 


GHOST  CANYON  27 

human  nose,  yet  was  powerful  enough  to  attract 
males  from  a  distance  of  miles  away,  against  the 
wind.  Moreover,  though  he  tried  to  veil  the  scent 
with  the  most  powerful  and  evil-smelling  chemi- 
cals known  to  science,  the  male  moths  flew  straight 
to  the  place  where  their  desired  mate  had  rested. 
No  experiment  known  to  science  has  yet  satis- 
factorily explained  these  X-rays  of  smell.1 

Moreover,  many  of  the  creatures  of  the  wild 
have  yet  another  sense,  so  strange,  so  little  known 
to  Man,  that  it  has  not  yet  been  given  a  name. 
For  lack  of  any  better  word  it  is  sometimes  called 
''feeling,"  and  consists  in  the  receiving  and  trans- 
mitting of  wireless  means  of  communication. 
The  extraordinary  migration  of  such  widely 
different  creatures  as  birds  and  eels  are  a  part  of 
this  problem,  as  is  also  the  "speech"  of  ants,  the 
homing  of  bees,  or  the  infection  of  fear. 

To  Gavan,  many  of  these  things  were  vaguely 
known.  He  knew  the  sharpness  of  the  hearing  of 
animals,  their  keenness  of  scent,  and  the  unex- 
plained ability  of  certain  creatures  to  tell  when 
their  enemy,  Man,  was  near.  The  latter  sense, 

i  Every  boy  should  have  the  bookt  of  J.  H.  Fabre  in  his 
library.  This  question  of  "back  scent"  and  the  great  natural- 
ist's experiments  with  regard  to  it  may  be  found  in  his  "Social 
Life  in  the  Insect  World." 


28      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

that  of  "feel,"  he  was  about  to  know  himself. 

The  night  passed  on,  with  its  mountain  chill,  and 
Gavan  shivered.  A  slight  movement  at  his  feet 
caught  his  attention.  Duff  had  waked  from  sleep. 
His  eyes  blinked  out  of  their  slumbrous  state, 
then  ceased  to  blink  and  became  attentive.  His 
ears,  which  had  been  lying  close  to  his  head,  com- 
menced to  rise,  slowly.  Presently  they  pointed 
forward  with  an  alert  bearing.  The  dog  slightly 
turned  his  head  to  one  side,  as  though  to  catch 
sound  waves  upon  two  levels.  The  flaccid  legs 
contracted  under  him,  the  muscles  of  his  back 
quivered.  The  domestic  animal  had  become  a 
wild  animal  upon  whose  quickness  of  sense  life 
or  death  might  depend. 

And  Gavan  realized  that  his  shiver  had  not  been 
born  of  cold,  but  of  unknown  fear. 

Some  evil  Thing  was  approaching. 

The  boy  laid  his  hand  on  the  dog's  collar.  The 
animal  was  as  tense  and  rigid  as  though  he  were 
built  of  steel.  He  made  no  responsive  move  to 
his  master's  hand. 

Had  Duff  burst  into  a  paroxysm  of  barking,  the 
boy  would  have  been  less  alarmed.  But  not  a 
sound  came  from  the  dog.  Only  the  hair  on  his 
neck  bristled. 


GHOST  CANYON  29 

Suddenly,  quite  suddenly,  Gavan  became  con- 
scious of  the  beating  of  his  heart.  It  sounded 
loud  and  fluttering.  He  swallowed  hard,  several 
times. 

He  glanced  down  at  Duff.  There  was  foam  on 
the  dog's  lips,  yet  he  had  not  made  a  sound. 

With  a  strong  effort,  the  boy  got  a  grip  on  his 
nerves.  He  took  his  rifle  in  hand. 

Was  it  imagination,  or  had  the  sounds  of  the 
night  grown  still?  He  listened  intently.  Yes, 
the  myriad  voices  were  hushed.  Something  was 
approaching,  something  which  spoke  of  menace  to 
the  woods  folk. 

It  was  something,  therefore,  of  which  the  very 
creatures  of  the  wild  themselves  were  in  fear. 

Duff's  sudden  access  of  hate  and  distrust  was 
even  more  alarming.  Something  was  approach- 
ing of  which  a  domesticated  creature  was  in  fear. 

Was  that  a  movement  near  the  head  of  the 
canyon  f 

Yes! 

Out  of  the  shadow  of  the  rocks,  half  upright, 
running  with  a  curious,  leaping  gait,  came  a 
shaggy  gray  figure. 

The  Wolf -Woman ! 

The  creature  ran  forward  a  few  steps,  then 


30      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

stopped,  sniffed,  crouched  on  the  ground  and 
howled,  a  high  dismal  howl,  half-beast,  half- 
human. 

Duff  slunk  back,  not  daring  even  to  growl. 

Many  a  time  had  Gavan  scoffed  at  the  story  of 
the  Wolf -Woman  of  the  Cross-Three  Ranch. 

He  was  not  scoffing  now. 

Yet  the  tale  was  a  curious  one.  This  woman, 
the  Mexican  wife  of  a  rancher  in  the  neighborhood, 
had  been  found,  when  a  girl,  lying  on  the  open,  a 
long  way  from  a  water-hole,  almost  dead  from 
thirst  and  exhaustion.  Her  shoes  were  worn 
through  and  her  clothes  in  rags.  According  to 
her  own  story,  she  had  been  driven  away  from  a 
Mexican  settlement,  far  to  the  south,  because  she 
had  threatened  to  deliver  to  justice  a  man  who  had 
killed  her  brother. 

The  girl  was  pretty  and  the  ranchman  married 
her,  not  long  after.  For  a  year  or  two  all  went 
well.  But,  a  few  weeks  after  her  first  child  was 
born,  it  was  found  dead  and  half-devoured,  half 
a  mile  from  the  ranch-house.  There  was  no  sus- 
picion, then.  Two  years  later,  a  second  child 
disappeared.  The  men  of  the  place  searched 
carefully.  There  was  no  track  of  animal  to  be 
found  near  the  scene  of  the  tragedy.  A  year  later, 


GHOST  CANYON  31 

the  child  of  a  Mexican  living  in  an  adobe  hut, 
several  miles  away,  was  spirited  away  while  the 
parents  were  working  in  the  fields  and  the  mother 
declared  that  she  had  seen  a  great  gray  wolf,  run- 
ning on  its  hind-legs  in  human  fashion,  prowling 
about  the  place,  several  times  before.  Close 
watch  was  kept,  for  there  were  other  little  chil- 
dren in  this  adobe  home  and,  one  day,  a  huge  gray 
wolf  was  seen  at  twilight  and  shot  through  the 
foreleg. 

The  rancher,  returning  home  that  night,  found 
his  wife  with  a  bullet-wound  through  her  fore-arm, 
which  she  ascribed  to  accidental  mishandling  of 
a  six-shooter.  There  was  no  other  evidence.  The 
ranchman  said  nothing,  but  from  that  day  on,  the 
woman  lived  alone  in  the  ranch-house.  Not  even 
her  husband  would  speak  to  her,  nor  would  any 
man  touch  the  food  that  she  had  cooked. 

The  most  intelligent  men  of  the  district  scoffed 
at  the  story,  but  they  left  the  woman  alone.  The 
sheriff,  a  highly  educated  man — one  of  the  many 
adventurous  types  who  have  gone  west  for  free- 
dom of  life  and  the  lure  of  open  spaces — declined 
to  arrest  the  woman  on  suspicion,  although  admit- 
ting that  less  than  two  and  a  half  centuries  ago, 
werewolves  were  so  common  in  France  that  trials 


32      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

and  convictions  were  frequent.1  The  laws  of  New 
Mexico,  the  sheriff  declared,  did  not  permit  of 
witchcraft  trials,  nor  would  he  admit  that  a  mere 
coincidence  of  circumstantial  evidence  justified 
mob  action.  He  kept  a  would-be  lynching  crowd 
in  hand. 

But  Gavan,  listening  to  that  half-beast,  half- 
human  howling,  felt  his  doubts  strengthen.  He 
knew  that  a  belief  in  werewolves  had  existed  in 
every  country  of  the  Old  World. 

Not  running  now,  but  crouching  on  the  ground, 
the  Beast-Figure  crept  forward.  It  had  not  the 
gait  of  a  wolf,  still  less  had  it  the  movements  of  a 
thing  human.  Evil  was  surely  abnoad.  Every 
sound  of  the  wild  was  hushed.  The  dog,  rigid  as 
stone,  forbore  even  to  snarl. 

The  howl,  half-beast,  half-human,  pierced  the 
silence  again,  and  the  Thing  crept  on.  It  ap- 
proached close  to  the  grave. 

Gavan 's  fingers  closed  upon  his  rifle.  The  dis- 
tance was  short,  not  more  than  fifty  yards.  He 
could  not  possibly  miss.  Yet — 

If  the  Thing  were  human  and  not  beast,  had  he 
the  right  to  shoot?  Would  it  not  be  murder? 

iThe  last  was  in  1703.  The  curious  part  of  the  werewolf 
convictions  was  that  most  of  the  accused  persons  confessed, 
probably  either  from  insanity  or  fear. 


Courtesy  of  Mr.  Lewis  Spence. 

'WARE  THE  WEREWOLF! 

Illustrating  the  world-wide  superstition  of  creatures  half-wolf,  half-man. 

The  spirit  of  the  wolf  is  represented  as  entering 

the  body  of  the  man. 


GHOST  CANYON  33 

Creeping  forward,  the  Thing  laid  a  paw  upon 
the  stones  of  the  grave. 

Duff  growled. 

In  the  sheer  silence,  the  low  rumble  in  the  dog's 
throat  sounded  like  distant  tuunder.  It  startled 
Gavan,  whose  nerves  were  tense  almost  to  snap- 
ping point,  but,  at  the  same  time,  it  gave  him 
courage.  That  growl,  at  least,  was  something 
normal,  something  comprehensible. 

The  Thing  turned  its  head  slowly. 

Shadowed  by  its  pose,  below  the  uppricked  ears 
of  a  wolf,  still  could  be  discerned  the  flat  lines  of 
a  human  face.  The  bared  teeth  were  not  those 
of  a  wolf. 

No,  he  dared  not  shoot! 

For  some  minutes — which  seemed  like  hours — 
the  Thing  stared  in  the  direction  of  the  growling, 
but  Gavan  had  chosen  his  place  well,  and  in  the 
deep  shadow  he  could  not  be  seen. 

Then,  over  and  above  the  low  rumble  in  the 
dog's  throat,  there  came  a  faint  "click"  and 
Gavan  saw  one  of  the  stones  on  the  grave  move. 

Sudden  anger  boiled  up  in  the  boy  and  overbore 
his  superstitious  terrors.  The  grave  should  not 
be  desecrated! 

He  stepped  boldly  into  the  moonlight,  his  rifle 


34      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

at  his  shoulder.  If  the  Thing  attacked,  he  could 
shoot  in  self-defense. 

But,  as  he  moved,  the  Beast-Thing  whirled  away, 
running  like  a  human  being. 

"After  it,  Duff!"  cried  Gavan. 

But  the  dog  whimpered  and  crouched  upon  the 
ground. 

G-avan's  rifle  was  at  his  shoulder,  his  finger  on 
the  trigger,  yet  the  boy  dared  not  shoot. 

In  a  second  the  Thing  had  turned  the  head  of  the 
canyon  and  disappeared. 

Gavan  returned  to  his  post. 

All  the  night  long,  almost  motionless,  he 
watched,  but  nothing  disturbed  the  stillness  of  the 
canyon. 

At  last  dawn  came,  and  following  it,  the  sun- 
light. Stretching  himself  and  with  an  unbounded 
satisfaction  that  the  night  was  over,  Gavan  walked 
to  the  side  of  the  grave  and  bent  down  to  look  at 
the  ground  beside  it. 

The  tracks  were  those  of  a  wolf,  but  no  wolf  ever 
walked  with  so  heavy  a  tread ! 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   GRIZZLY-WOMAN 

COURAGE  and  sunlight  go  together.  There  are 
many  people  who  will  yield  to  their  fears  when  the 
uncertain  glimmer  of  starlight  or  moonlight  sends 
shadows  to  dancing,  and  yet  who  will  brave  with- 
out a  qualm  any  danger  that  can  actually  be  seen. 

Had  Gavan  seen  this  track  during  the  night,  he 
might  have  had  a  bitter  fight  with  panic.  In  the 
light  of  morning,  however,  his  first  thought  was 
for  action. 

"Ghosts  don't  leave  a  trail,"  he  said  to  himself 
aloud;  "that's  sure!" 

He  turned  sharply  to  follow  up  the  trail,  whis- 
tling to  Duff  as  he  did  so. 

The  dog  whined  and  refused  to  follow. 

So  Gavan,  turning  his  back  on  the  grave,  traced 
the  tracks  to  the  head  of  the  canyon.  The  more  he 
studied  the  prints  in  the  dust,  the  more  puzzled 
he  grew.  They  were  wolf  tracks,  there  was  not  a 
doubt  of  that,  but  no  wolf  in  the  world  of  which 

35 


36      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

the  boy  had  ever  heard  had  made  tracks  which 
were  so  large,  nor  which  were  so  deeply  set.  Nor 
was  the  gait  that  of  a  wolf.  It  was  more  like  that 
of  a  bear,  walking,  as  bears  do,  with  the  greater 
part  of  the  weight  on  the  hind  feet. 

As  old  hunters  know  well,  there  is  a  great  deal 
of  difficulty  in  following  a  wolf  slot  over  a  stretch 
which  has  also  been  crossed  by  dogs.  It  takes  a 
tracker  of  the  first  order  to  be  able  to  distinguish 
between  the  track  of  a  wolf  and  of  some  breeds  of 
dog.  The  wolf  track  is  a  trifle  narrower  in  pro- 
portion to  its  width,  and  that  is  all.  Herein 
Gavan  found  no  trouble.  The  trail  he  was  follow- 
ing was  unlike  that  of  any  wolf  or  dog  whose  slot 
the  boy  had  seen.  He  tracked  the  prints  out  of 
Ghost  Canyon  to  a  stretch  of  stony  soil  above  Tom 
Creek  on  which  no  foot  could  leave  a  mark. 

As  it  chanced,  on  all  sides  of  this  stony  stretch, 
there  was  enough  soil  loosened  by  ground  squir- 
rels to  show  a  track.  Yet  not  a  sign  could  he  see. 
The  wolf-tracks  led  in,  but  they  did  not  lead  out. 

With  threats  and  coaxing  intermingled,  Gavan 
set  Duff  on  the  trail,  but  the  hound  was  equally  at 
fault.  From  any  sign  that  was  left,  the  Thing 
must  have  disappeared  into  thin  air.  There  were 
hoof -marks,  of  course,  those  of  his  cousin's  pony, 


THE  GRIZZLY-WOMAN  37 

those  of  his  own,  and,  undoubtedly  others,  but 
wolf -tracks  there  were  none.  The  trail  was  lost. 

Whatever  It  was,  the  Thing  was  gone  and  day- 
light was  come.  The  vigil  had  been  long  and 
nerve-racking,  but  Gavan's  heart  was  high  with- 
in him,  for  he  had  dared  to  spend  the  night  in 
Ghost  Canyon  and  he  had  saved  the  grave  from 
desecration.  No  full-grown  man  could  have  done 
more. 

He  caught  his  pony,  took  off  the  hobbles  and 
loped  for  the  XO  ranch,  whence  word  was  sent  to 
the  sheriff,  who  also  acted  as  coroner.  As  for 
himself,  tired  out  with  a  long  n; : . .'.'a  watching, 
Gavan  threw  himself  down  on  a  bunk  in  the  ranch- 
house  and  slept  like  a  bear  in  winter,  until  the  call 
for  dinner  brought  him  wide  awake  and  hungry. 

At  dinner  he  told  the  story  in  all  detail  to  the 
cattle-punchers  on  the  place  and  to  the  sheriff, 
a  quiet,  gray-eyed  man,  quite  unlike  the  supposed 
sheriff  of  a  "bad  man"  country,  rather  resem- 
bling a  business  man  in  an  eastern  city.  But 
Sheriff  Capton  had  once  had  a  reputation  for 
downing  his  man.  It  was  not  so  much  that  he  was 
phenomenally  quick  at  his  gun-play  as  that  he 
seemed  to  have  a  queer  intuitive  sense  of  when 
the  man  he  was  after  was  going  to  draw  his  gun. 


38       WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

4 'Hunch"  Capton,  they  called  him  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, and  the  Mexicans,  especially,  gave  him  a 
wide  berth.  To  them  there  was  something  un- 
canny in  the  sheriff's  ability  to  read  the  thoughts 
of  others. 

Gavan  expected  that  the  men  would  saddle  and 
ride  immediately  after  dinner,  but,  after  cigarettes 
were  rolled  and  lighted,  no  one  showed  any  desire 
to  stir. 

"What  are  we  waiting  for?"  asked  Gavan. 

"OP  Quick  Feather,"  one  of  the  older  men 
answered.  "Hunch,  there,  thinks  the  Chief  is  the 
only  man  th..  avvies  a  trail. ' ' 

"How  about  McLeodf"  suggested  Gavan,  who 
had  met  the  government  expert.  McLeod  was  one 
of  the  trappers  employed  by  the  U.  S.  Biological 
Survey  in  its  work  of  controlling  predatory  ani- 
mals, and  he  possessed  a  great  reputation  as  a 
trapper.  He  was  given  somewhat  to  tall  talk, 
however,  and  was  often  heard  to  boast  that  there 
wasn't  an  animal  alive  that  he  wouldn't  track  into 
its  den  and  tackle  without  any  other  weapon  than 
a  bowie-knife. 

"Hunch  ain't  really  taken  all  the  stock  he  should 
in  Mac  since  the  six-toed  bear  deal, ' '  answered  the 
old  puncher,  who  was  known  simply  as  "Pinto" 


THE  GRIZZLY-WOMAN  39 

because  one  of  his  eyes  was  a  little  darker  in  color 
than  the  other. 

' '  Jnst  what  was  that  story  ? ' '  asked  Gavan.  *  *  I 
heard  something  about  it,  but  never  got  the  rights 
of  it.  Blue  Joe  didn 't  talk  much. ' ' 

' '  No, "  agreed  the  cowboy,  ' '  he  didn 't.  But  the 
story's  worth  tellin'.  It  ain't  so  frequent  that  a 
chap  sits  in  to  a  lone  hand,  the  way  Mac  did,  an' 
rakes  in  all  the  chips  on  the  table  in  one  turn  of  a 
card." 

"How  was  it,  Pinto?"  asked  the  boy. 

' '  This  all  came  off  quite  a  few  years  ago,  when 
I  first  struck  the  range,"  the  cowboy  answered. 
"Mac  had  a  cattle  outfit,  that  time,  an'  the  var- 
mints used  to  be  a  heap  more  plentiful  than  they 
are  now.  There  was  one  old  grizzly  that  had 
turned  cattle-killer." 

"Won't  all  grizzlies  kill  cattle?"  asked  the  boy. 

The  other  shook  his  head. 

'  *  Mighty  few  o '  them  will, ' '  he  answered.  *  *  But 
when  a  bear  gets  that  idee  in  his  head,  he's 
like  a  sheep-killin '  dog,  there  ain't  no  way  to  break 
him  o'  the  habit.  Mac,  he  was  just  plumb  de- 
termined to  get  that  bear. 

"Well,  one  day,  ridin'  over  the  range,  some  o' 
the  boys,  Hunch  Capton  among  'em,  found  a  steer 


4o      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

with  Mac's  brand  which  had  just  been  killed 
recent.  It  had  been  rainin'  durin'  the  night  an' 
some  o'  the  boys  corralled  the  idea  that  when  it 
was  dry  enough  they  would  put  one  over  on 
Mac.  He  used  to  be  shore  a  heap  superstitious, 
was  Mac.  He's  got  more  savvy  now,  since  he  got 
to  working  for  the  U.  S. 

"Waitin'  until  the  ground  was  plenty  dry  an' 
wouldn't  show  their  own  tracks,  some  o'  the  boys 
went  to  work  an'  made  the  print  of  an  extra  toe 
beside  the  other  five,  wherever  a  print  showed  a 
bit  clear,  to  make  it  look  like  it  was  a  track  of  a 
six-toed  bear,  leadin'  right  to  a  den  not  far  away. 

"Then  they  took  an  old  bear-skin  an'  stuffed  it 
in  a  Mnd  of  a  fashion,  putting  it  'way  back  in  the 
cave.  After  which,  they  rode  off  to  Mac  to  tell 
him  they  had  tracked  the  cattle-killin '  grizzly  an' 
this  was  the  time  for  him  to  make  good  his  long 
talk  about  facin'  a  grizzly  an'  to  do  it  pronto.'* 

"So  that  he  would  go  in  and  stab  a  stuffed 
bear?"  the  boy  grinned.  "That  would  sure  put 
the  joke  on  him!" 

"So  Hunch  and  the  rest  of  the  boys  figured. 
Well,  Mac  came  ridin'  right  over  as  soon  as  he 
heard  the  news,  an'  just  looked  down  once  at  the 
queer  track.  Then  he  refused,  point-blank,  to 


THE  GRIZZLY-WOMAN  41 

follow  up  the  tracks  'til  the  next  day.  The  boys 
joked  him  to  a  fare-you-well,  but  Mac  stuck  out." 

"Why?"  asked  Gavan. 

"I  misremember  exactly  what  reason  he  trotted 
out,  said  he  couldn't  hunt  a  six-toed  bear  on  a 
Friday,  or  some  sech  foolish  an'  superstitious 
reason — he  always  had  a  bunch  o'  superstitions 
corralled  that  no  one  else  had  ever  heard  of — but 
he  said  he  was  sure  willin'  to  go  an'  tackle  the  bear 
the  next  day. 

"Well,  as  you  can  gamble,  that  story  went  all 
over  the  range,  an'  the  next  day  there  must  have 
been  twenty  or  more  o'  the  boys  come  up  to  see 
Mac  tackle  the  man-killin'  grizzly  with  a  bowie- 
knife.  The  boys  were  just  ready  to  bust  with 
laughin'  thinkin'  how  Mac  was  going  to  get  the 
cards  stacked  on  him,  but  no  one  cracked  a  smile. 
As  for  Mac,  he  made  out  to  be  quite  gratified  at 
seem'  such  a  big  turnout  for  his  duel  with  the  bear. 

"The  round-up  waitin'  to  see  the  show  trailed 
along  after  Mac,  who  squinted  at  the  ground  once 
in  a  while  as  though  to  assure  himself  of  the  track 
an'  by  an'  by  he  reached  the  den.  Most  o'  the 
boys  had  a  pain  in  their  insides  keepin'  from 
laughin'  but  Mac  looked  serious.  An'  the  more 
serious  he  looked,  the  more  it  hurt  the  rest  to  keep 


42      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

from  laughin'.  Then,  drawin'  his  knife,  Mac 
crept  into  the  den. 

"For  a  minute  or  two  every  one  said  nothin'. 
They  were  just  gettin'  ready  to  send  up  a  geer- 
oolius  hoot  when  Mac  came  out  after  stabbin'  the 
stuffed  bear. 

"Then,  from  inside  the  cave,  they  heard  a 
lot  of  shoutin'  an'  a  big  puff  of  smoke,  an',  like  a 
train  plungin'  out  of  a  tunnel,  come  plungin'  a 
great  big  bear ! ' ' 

"But  I  thought  the  bear  was  stuffed!"  ex- 
claimed Gavan. 

"That  one  wasn't  stuffed.  He  didn't  run  away, 
either,  but  made  straight  for  the  bunch.  They 
scattered.  They  knew  that  the  bear  they  had  put 
in  there  was  stuffed  an'  there  wasn't  any  one 
ready  to  try  conclusions  with  a  resurrected  stuffed- 
bear.  As  for  the  animile,  he  acted  just  like  he  was 
locoed,  driving  right  straight  through  the  middle 
of  us  an'  never  lookin'  to  ttye  right  or  left. 

"Then,  out  from  the  cave,  comes  Mac,  smokin' 
a  cigarette  an'  joshes  us  all  most  horrible,  about 
twenty  cowboys,  each  one  with  a  gun  on  his  leg, 
being  scared  out  o'  their  wits  by  a  bear.  The 
laugh  was  on  us  sure,  that  time." 


THE  GRIZZLY-WOMAN  43 

"But  how  did  Mac  do  it?"  asked  Gavan. 

*  *  I  never  rightly  knew,  but  I  reckon  he  'd  caught 
a  bear  in  a  trap  o'  some  sort,  roped  an'  tied  him 
an'  in  some  way  toted  him  to  the  den,  settin'  him 
loose  when  he  got  in  an'  lightin'  a  fire  behind  him 
to  make  him  get  out  o'  the  cave.    He'd  smeared 
a  log  in  the  cave  with  honey  in  which  he  mixed 
loco-weed  1  or  some  other  dope  which  just  made 
the  bear  crazy.     It  wasn't  any  grizzly,  either,  just 
a  good-sized  black  bear,  but  the  rest  of  us  weren't 
lookin'  any  too  closely.    For  all  I  know,  it  may 
have  been  a  tame  bear. 

*  *  But  it 's  a  sure  thing  that  Mac  had  done  turned 
the  joke  on  us,  an'  Hunch,  who  doped  out  the 
whole  deal,  hasn't  ever  felt  very  happy  about  Mac 
ever    since.     They're    good   enough   friends,    all 
right,  but  not  what  you  might  call  pally.     That's 
the  only  time  that  I  ever  heard  of  any  one  gettin' 
the  better  o'  Hunch." 

The  sheriff  smiled  at  the  recital  of  the  story, 
but  responded  only, 

"I'll  bet  on  Quick  Feather  following  up  the 

i  A  wee*1  growing  on  the  prairies  which,  when  cattle  or 
horses  eat  it,  sends  them  mad.  Many  a  square  mile  of  rich 
pasture  in  the  West  haa  to  be  abandoned  by  reason  of  the  preva- 
lence of  loco-weed. 


44      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

Wolf -Woman  trail  if  any  one  can.  And  here  he 
comes  now,"  he  added,  as  the  figure  of  a  distant 
rider  appeared  in  the  distance. 

The  other  men  yawned,  stretched  and  went  to 
the  corral  for  their  horses. 

"How,  Quick  Feather!"  said  the  sheriff. 

"How!"  the  Indian  answered. 

"Gray  Johnny  tell  you  about  the  tracks  of  the 
Wolf -Woman?" 

The  Indian  nodded. 

"He  tell  me,"  he  answered. 

"Well,  we'll  start  right  off." 

"Good,"  was  Quick  Feather's  laconic  reply. 

There  were  seven  in  the  party  that  rode  back  to 
Ghost  Canyon,  "Hunch"  Capton,  the  sheriff; 
Quick  Feather,  "Pinto  Joe,"  "Thin-lip"  Jack, 
the  ranch  boss,  two  other  riders  of  the  ranch 
and  Gavan.  In  a  way,  the  boy  felt  himself  to  be 
under  watch,  for  the  sheriff  would  have  been  justi- 
fied in  arresting  the  lad  as  the  only  person  present 
when  Blue  Joe  Keary  had  met  death  by  violence, 
but  no  one  suspected  Gavan. 

The  grave  in  the  canyon  was  still  undisturbed, 
as  it  had  been  in  the  morning.  The  Sheriff  and 
Quick  Feather  went  forward  together  to  scan  the 
ground  carefully  for  tracks.  This  done,  the  stones 


THE  GRIZZLY-WOMAN  45 

were  removed  and  the  sheriff  examined  the  body 
carefully. 

A  very  brief  examination  sufficed.  It  was  clear 
that  the  wounds  which  had  killed  the  man  had  been 
received  from  the  mountain  lion's  claws,  and  that 
the  burst  gun  had  been  a  principal  cause. 

"All  straight  goin',''  said  the  sheriff,  straight- 
ening up  from  his  stooping  position.  "Death  by 
accident;  we'll  take  him  to  town  an'  bury  him 
right.  The  padre  will  fix  it  up-." 

Taos,  a  Mexican  town  close  to  the  famous 
Indian  pueblo,  is  an  old  settlement,  and,  though 
small,  is  well  provided  with  the  resources  of  the 
old  Spanish  civilization. 

This  point  decided,  and  Gavan  thus  officially  re- 
leased from  any  possibility  of  accusation,  the 
interest  of  the  party  centered  on  the  apparition  or 
the  Thing  which  Gavan  had  seen  the  previous 
night.  The  boy  repeated  the  story  for  the  third 
time,  pointing  out  where  he  sat  in  the  shadow 
watching  during  the  night,  from  which  direction 
he  had  seen  the  Thing  advance,  and  describing, 
with  all  the  exactitude  of  detail  that  he  could 
summon  up,  the  appearance  and  motions  of  the 
object  of  suspicion. 

When  he  had  finished  there  was  a  dead  silence, 


46      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

which  one  of  the  younger  cowboys  was  the  first 
to  break. 

11  Guess  you  must  ha'  been  sleepin',"  he  said, 
"an'  when  a  lobo  came  aroun'  you  thought  it  was 
some  thin'  else  in  the  moonlight.  The  tracks  is 
sure  those  of  a  wolf." 

The  sheriff  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  young 
puncher. 

"Might  be,"  he  agreed  noncommittally. 

But  the  ranch  boss  thought  otherwise. 

"I  notice,"  said  Thin-lip  Jack,  caustically, 
"that  a  youngster  always  wants  to  explain  every- 
thing he  sees.  A  young  coyote  thinks  he  has  a  lot 
o'  savvy  an'  gets  plumb  confident.  He'll  put  his 
foot  in  a  trap  as  often  as  not.  But  you  note  a  coy- 
ote that's  reached  years  o'  discretion,  say,  three 
years  an'  better,  an'  even  if  there  ain't  no  reason 
to  be  suspicious  he  '11  hang  around  a  bait  for  three 
days  before  he  goes  near  it.  He's  old  enough  to 
know  that  he  hasn't  got  as  much  savvy  as  he  once 
thought  he  had." 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  about  the  deal  your- 
self?" retorted  the  other. 

"I'm  goin'  to  set  in  an'  look  on  a  while,"  the 
ranch  boss  answered;  "so  far,  I  don't  know  the 
game  well  enough  to  buy  chips. ' ' 


THE  GRIZZLY-WOMAN  47 

The  sheriff  turned  to  the  Indian. 

"What  do  you  say,  Quick  Feather?"  he  asked. 

The  Indian  stooped  down  and  examined  the 
tracks  carefully,  followed  two  or  three  of  them, 
and  then  came  back  to  the  group. 

"Not  wolf!"  he  answered  simply. 

" Sure  o'  that!' 

"Not  wolf!"  the  Indian  repeated. 

"What  is  it  then,  Quick  Feather!"  Pinto  asked. 

"Not  wolf,"  was  the  reply,  given  a  third  time. 

"You  don't  believe  that  Wolf -Woman  story, 
do  you!"  the  young  cattle-puncher  asked,  mock- 
ingly. 

The  Indian  looked  at  him  gravely  and  made  no 
reply. 

"You've  heard  the  story,  haven't  you,  Quick 
Feather?"  the  sheriff  asked,  though  he  was  cer- 
tain the  Indian  would  know%  for  it  was  universally 
known  in  that  section. 

"I  have  heard,"  answered  Quick  Feather. 

"Do  you  think  it  could  be  true?" 

"Huh !  Does  any  man  know  all  the  trails  of  the 
world?" 

"No,"  the  sheriff  agreed,  "but  a  new  trail  does 
not  come  in  a  day,  Quick  Feather.  How  could  a 
woman  be  a  wolf  or  a  wolf  a  woman?" 


48      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

"Does  any  man  know  all  the  trails  of  the 
world!"  repeated  the  Indian,  with  that  repetition 
of  phrase  which  so  many  of  his  white  friends 
found  so  exasperating. 

The  sheriff  changed  his  question. 

"Have  you  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing  before?" 
he  asked. 

"I  have  heard." 

"One  of  the  old  tales  of  the  pueblo?" 

"A  medicine  tale." 

"Is  it  only  for  the  estufa?"  l  asked  the  sheriff, 
who  had  lived  a  long  time  in  the  country  and  knew 
the  ways  of  the  Pueblo  Indians,  "  or  is  it  one  which 
maybe  told?" 

"It  may  be  told." 

The  sheriff  took  out  his  bag  of  tobacco  and 
rolled  himself  a  cigarette.  The  others  followed  his 
example,  and  waited.  One  c'r^rette  had  been 
smoked  out  and  others  lighted  before  Quick 
Feather  began  to  speak.  He  spoke  slowly,  in  good 
English,  but  with  the  strained  phrases  of  the 
Indian  who  has  only  learned  the  white  language 
in  his  old  age. 

"Many  winters  ago,"  he  began,  "before  the 

i  The  estufa  ( in  some  groups  known  as  the  kiva )  is  a  cir- 
cular chamber  in  the  pueblo  kept  sacred  for  tribal  ceremonial. 


THE  GRIZZLY-WOMAN  49 

White  Rabbit  (the  sun)  had  grown  as  big  as  he  is 
now  and  burned  up  the  land  with  his  magic,  the 
animals  were  more  like  men.  They  had  councils 
and  were  able  to  talk.  There  are  some  who 
think  that  they  have  not  quite  forgotten." 

The  youngest  cow-puncher  gave  a  foolish  little 
laugh. 

Quick  Feather  slowly  turned  his  eyes  on  him. 

"The  jack-rabbit  once  laughed  at  the  coyote 
because  he  could  not  run  fast  a  long  time  without 
getting  tired.  So  the  coyote  spoke  to  another 
coyote,  and  one  chased  the  rabbit  while  the  other 
rested,  and  when  the  second  one  was  tired,  the  first 
took  up  the  chase.  The  coyotes  ate  well  that  night 
and  the  end  of  that  rabbit  was  as  that  of  those  who 
are  too  young  to  have  beliefs." 

The  cowboy  looked  uncomfortable,  and  there- 
after forbore  to  interrupt. 

"It  was  in  the  times  when  animals  were  able  to 
talk,"  the  Indian  continued,  impassively,  "  that 
there  dwelt  in  a  wickiup  *  a  family  wherein  there 
were  nine  children,  seven  boys  and  two  girls.  One 
girl,  she  that  was  called  Bearskin- Woman,  was  tall 
and  wore  red  berries  in  her  hair  and  there  were 

i  Naturally,  a  pueblo  Indiaa  would  ascribe  this  tale  to  one 
of  the  roving  tribes. 


50      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

those  who  said  that  she  made  medicine-sticks  in 
secret, 

1  'In  the  year-time  when  the  cactus  is  in  blossom, 
the  six  older  brothers  of  Bearskin-Woman  went 
away  on  the  war-path  with  the  Badger  people,  and, 
while  they  were  away,  the  One  with  Claws  on  his 
Hands,  the  Grizzly  Bear,  came  walking  to  the 
wickiup. 

"There  was  rich  store  of  venison  in  the  cave 
of  the  Grizzly  Bear,  for  no  hunter's  arrow  was  so 
sure  in  the  chase  as  the  stroke  of  one  of  those 
clawed  hands. 

"There  was  a  store  of  skins  in  the  cave  of 
Grizzly  Bear,  though  there  was  none  to  tan  them 
soft  and  white  as  can  be  done  by  the  hands  of  a 
woman. 

"There  was  protection  in  the  cave  of  Grizzly 
Bear,  because  of  the  strength  of  the  One  with 
Claws  on  his  Hands.  He  felt  that,  when  wedded 
to  the  wit  of  a  woman  who  made  medicine-sticks 
in  secret  his  power  would  be  greater  than  the 
tribesmen  could  overcome. 

* '  So,  though  the  father  refused  his  blessing  and 
the  mother  painted  her  face  white  for  evil  token 
on  the  wedding  day,  Bearskin-Woman  married 
Grizzly  Bear  while  her  brothers  were  away. 


Courtesy  of  "  Field  and  Stream." 

COLONEL  ROOSEVELT  KILLING  A  GRIZZLY. 

An  incident  in  the  hunting  life  of  the  greatest  American  of  the 
Twentieth  Century. 


THE  GRIZZLY-WOMAN  51 

"When  two  moons  had  become  thin  and  died 
of  hunger,  the  brothers  returned.  Their  father 
laid  upon  them  the  command  to  kill  Grizzly  Bear 
and  bring  their  sister  back,  for  it  was  not  pleas- 
ing to  the  gods  that  a  Bear  and  a  woman  should 
marry.  So  the  brothers  watched  for  Grizzly  Bear 
and  when  he  was  more  than  an  arrow-shot  away 
from  the  cave  they  pierced  him  with  many  arrows. 
Yet,  in  spite  of  all  their  arrows,  Grizzly  Bear 
crawled  back  to  his  cave.  There,  before  he  died, 
Bearskin-Woman  stooped  down  and  placing  her 
mouth  near  that  of  the  dying  Grizzly  Bear,  she 
breathed  in  his  spirit  as  it  left  the  body. 

"Thus  Bearskin-Woman  became  Grizzly- Wo- 
man in  spirit.  Then,  before  the  warmth  had  left 
the  body  and  the  great  muscles  had  ceased  to  quiv- 
er, Grizzly-Woman  took  a  piece  of  skin  of  her  dead 
mate  and  made  an  amulet.  In  it  she  kept  her 
medicine-sticks.  Thus,  with  the  spirit  of  the 
grizzly  and  the  secret  of  the  body  of  the  Grizzly, 
she  could  change  into  a  Grizzly  or  a  Woman  when- 
ever she  willed  the  change.  Nor  could  her 
brothers  kill  her,  for  by  making  medicine  she  knew 
whenever  they  were  near  and  they  feared  the 
gods  who  had  given  such  great  strength  to  Grizzly- 
Woman. 


52      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

"Then,  one  day,  making  medicine,  Grizzly- 
Woman  learned  that  her  father  and  mother  had 
made  plans  to  kill  her.  Since  they  had  given  her 
life,  they  had  the  right  to  take  it  away  again, 
which  the  brothers  might  not  do.  Grizzly- Woman 
knew  her  danger,  so,  one  night,  she  dashed  into 
the  wickiup  and  killed  her  father  and  her  mother 
in  revenge  for  their  plotting  against  her.  Then 
she  changed  back  again  into  the  form  of  a  woman, 
and,  seizing  her  youngest  brother,  Okinai,  and  his 
sister  Sinopah,  went  back  to  her  cave,  taking  the 
children  with  her,  determining  that  they  should 
live  with  her.  She  thought,  by  her  medicine,  to 
make  them  Grizzly-Boy  and  Grizzly-Girl,  but  she 
was  afraid  to  give  them  too  strong 'medicine  at 
first,  for  the  children  were  too  young  to  take  a  full 
dose,  and,  being  afraid  of  their  Grizzly-Woman 
sister,  every  time  that  they  could,  they  did  their 
best  to  get  rid  of  the  bad  medicine. 

"The  six  brothers  were  in  great  trouble  when 
they  found  that  the  children  were  gone  and  they 
did  everything  they  could  think  of  to  bring  them 
back.  They  asked  Turkey  Buzzard,  who  sees 
everything,  and  he  told  them  to  go  and  see  the 
ever-hungry,  Clever  Coyote. 


THE  GRIZZLY-WOMAN  53 

"So  the  brothers  went  to  Clever  Coyote  and  he 
told  them  what  lo  do.  The  six  brothers  returned 
and  waiting  secretly  until  Okinai  went  to  the  river 
for  water,  they  told  the  boy  to  gather  the  leaves  of 
the  prickly-pear  cactus  and  to  spread  them  on  the 
ground  outside  the  cave,  but  to  leave  a  narrow 
twisting  path  through  the  spiny  leaves  which  only 
he  would  know,  but  which  could  not  be  seen. 
Then,  in  the  dark  of  the  night,  his  sister  Sinopah 
holding  tightly  to  his  waist-cloth,  and  treading  in 
his  footsteps,  he  should  escape  from  the  cave  by 
the  little  path  among  the  spiny  cactus  leaves. 

"By  her  medicine,  Grizzly- Woman  would  know 
at  once  that  they  were  gone,  even  tbough  she  were 
asleep,  and  she  would  undoubtedly  rush  out  after 
them  and  try  to  seize  them.  But,  Clever  Coyote 
said,  she  would  step  on  the  prickly  pear  and  the 
cactus-spines  would  go  into  her  feet  so  that  she 
would  not  be  able  to  run  fast. 

"Even  as  Clever  Coyote  had  suggested,  so  it 
came  about.  But  Okinai  decided  that  before  he 
left  the  cave,  he  would  seize  the  Grizzly- Woman 's 
medicine-bag.  When  it  was  just  the  middle  of  the 
night,  Okinai  snatched  up  the  bag  and  left  the 
cave,  Sinopah  holding  fast  to  his  waist-cloth,  and 


54      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

the  two  passed  swiftly  down  the  little  twisty  path 
between  the  prickly-pear  leaves  scattered  on  the 
ground. 

"  Grizzly- Woman  woke  at  once,  and  knew  by 
her  medicine  that  the  children  had  escaped.  She 
knew,  too,  that  her  medicine-bag  was  gone.  It 
was  important,  therefore,  to  catch  the  children  at 
once,  and  not  wait  until  morning.  So  she  rushed 
out  over  the  prickly-pear  leaves,  and  the  spines 
entered  her  feet  and  hurt  horribly.  But  she 
rushed  on,  just  the  same  though  not  as  fast.  The 
children  reached  their  brothers  and  all  eight  ran 
rapidly,  but,  in  spite  of  the  pains  in  her  feet, 
Grizzly- Woman  was  overtaking  them. 

"Then,  suddenly,  in  the  path  Clever  Coyote 
appeared,  hungry  as  ever. 

"  'Shoot  the  arrow  in  the  medicine-bag!'  he 
said  to  Okinai. 

"  'Where  shall  I  shoot ?'  asked  the  boy. 

"  'Shoot  ahead  of  you, '  answered  Clever  Coyote. 

"So  Okinai  took  a  bow  from  one  of  his  brothers, 
picked  out  the  medicine  arrow  from  the  bag  and 
shot  it  ahead  of  him.  And,  whisk !  the  moment  the 
arrow  fell,  Okinai,  Sinopah,  and  the  six  brothers 
were  at  the  same  place  as  the  arrow. 

"Again   Grizzly-Woman   commenced   to   over- 


THE  GRIZZLY-WOMAN  55 

take  the  children  and  again  Okinai  shot  the  arrow. 

"A  third  time  he  did  this,  and  then  Clever  Coy- 
ote who  had  been  running  easily  beside  the  children 
in  spite  of  the  flight  of  the  magic  arrow,  said, 

"  'Do  not  shoot  again.  If  you  shoot  more  than 
three  times,  you  will  go  backward  as  far  as  the 
arrow  goes  forward.' 

"  'What  shall  I  do  now?'  asked  Okinai. 

"  'You  will  find  a  feather  in  the  medicine-bag/ 
said  Clever  Coyote,  'take  it  out  and  wave  it  behind 
you.' 

"So  Okinai  took  out  the  magic  feather  and 
waved  it  behind  him,  and  a  dense  thicket  of  chap- 
arral sprang  up  between  the  two  children  and 
the  six  brothers.  But  Grizzly-Woman  plunged 
through,  her  great  weight  forcing  down  the  bushes 
as  though  they  were  grass,  and  again  she  gained 
on  the  children. 

"  'Grizzly-Woman  is  very  near!'  said  Okinai, 
when  he  saw  that  the  chaparral  was  passed. 

"  'There  is  a  medicine-stick  in  the  bag,'  said 
Clever  Coyote,  'put  your  tongue  to  it  and  then  spit 
behind  you.' 

"So  Okinai  put  his  tongue  to  the  medicine-stick 
and  spat,  and  there  was  a  great  lake  with  Grizzly- 
Woman  on  the  farther  shore. 


56      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

"But  Grizzly- Woman  changed  her  fur  to  a  white 
color  and  plunged  into  the  water,  swimming  very 
fast,  so  that  very  soon  she  had  crossed. 

"  'Grizzly-Woman  is  very  near,'  said  Okinai. 

"  'There  is  a  nut  in  the  medicine-bag,'  said 
Clever  Coyote.  'Quickly  make  a  small  hole  in  the 
ground  with  the  medicine-stick  and  put  the  nut  in 
it.  While  the  tree  grows,  cut  off  a  piece  of  your 
hair,  of  Sinopah's  hair,  and  of  each  of  your 
brother's.' 

"So  Okinai  took  the  medicine-stick  and  made  a 
small  hole  in  the  ground.  He  put  the  nut  in  it  and 
at  once  there  was  a  great  tree  with  heavy  branches. 
It  grew  fast,  but  not  so  fast  that  it  was  heavy 
enough  for  the  oldest  brothers.  While  the  tree 
was  still  small,  Sinopah,  the  lightest,  began  to 
climb,  then  Okinai  climbed,  then  the  two  youngest 
of  the  brothers,  but  before  the  tree  was  big  enough 
for  the  four  oldest  brothers,  Grizzly- Woman  had 
reached  the  tree  and  she  reached  up  and  pulled 
down  the  four  older  brothers  with  her  claws. 

"Said  Clever  Coyote, 

"  'Rub  the  hair  that  you  took  from  Sinopah's 
head  with  the  medicine-stick,  and  it  will  turn  into 
an  arrow.' 

"So  Okinai  did  as  Clever  Coyote  had  said. 


THE  GRIZZLY-WOMAN  57 

"  'Now,'  said  Clever  Coyote,  'shoot  that  arrow 
at  the  sky.' 

"So  Okinai  lifted  up  the  bow  and  put  to  the 
string  the  arrow  that  had  been  made  of  the  little 
girl's  hair  and  shot.  And,  as  the  hair  went  flying 
into  the  sky,  Sinopah  flew  into  the  sky  after  it. 

"He  did  the  same  with  the  hair  of  each  of  his 
brothers.  The  youngest,  being  heavier,  did  not 
go  so  high  as  Sinopah,  the  next  oldest,  heavier 
still,  was  lower  still,  and  the  four  big  brothers 
who  had  been  clawed  by  Grizzly-Woman  only  went 
a  little  way. 

"  'Now,'  said  Clever  Coyote,  'wrap  your  own 
hair  around  the  medicine-stick  and  shoot  that  into 
the  sky.' 

' '  So  Okinai<shot,  and,  as  the  medicine-stick  sped 
high  into  the  sky  he  followed  it,  up,  up  and  up, 
until  he  stopped  in  the  exact  middle  of  the  sky. 
And,  because  he  held  the  medicine-stick,  he  became 
the  center  of  the  stars,  and  all  the  stars  danced 
round  him.  But  Grizzly-Woman  could  not  fly 
after  them,  for  she  did  not  have  her  medicine-bag. 
Still  because  Sinopah  and  Okinai  had  taken  some 
of  the  Bear  medicine  the  eight  children  took  the 
form  of  a  Bear  in  the  sky.  The  two  oldest  of  the 
brothers  (the  outer  stars  of  The  Dipper  or  Great 


58      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

Bear)  point  to  where  Okinai  lives,  in  the  middle 
of  the  sky,  with  the  medicine-stick,  and  the  rest  of 
the  family  swings  around  him.  The  medicine- 
stick,  like  an  arrow  with  a  big  head  (the  Little 
Bear),  Okinai  still  holds  in  his  hand. 

"So,"  concluded  the  Indian,  "if  you  ask 
whether  there  have  been  those  who  were  men  and 
animals  besides,  I  will  say  that  there  are  tales  of 
such." 

"Tales,  yes,"  said  one  of  the  men  'contempt- 
uously, "but  how  about  the  real  thing?" 

"Down  in  Texas,  where  I  came  from,"  stated 
the  ranch  boss,  * '  there 's  an  Indian  tribe,  the  Ton- 
kawa,  who,  one  time,  used  to  be  cannibals,  so  the 
wise  ones  say.  They  had  a  sort  o'  secret  an' 
fraternal  society  o'  wolf -men,  who  togged  them- 
selves out  in  wolf-skins  an '  took  wolf 's  vittles  for 
their  regular  chuck.  When  one  o'  the  wolf -men 
died,  the  rest  o'  the  bunch  used  to  pick  out  some 
man  in  the  tribe — I  don 't  know  how  they  chose  him 
— bury  him  in  the  ground  for  a  whole  day,  leavin ' 
only  a  hole  through  a  straw  for  him  to  breathe. 
Then  the  wolf -men  dug  him  up,  put  a  wolf-skin  on 
him,  an'  pursuin'  that  time,  as  you  might  say, 
he  doesn't  have  to  work  none  for  the  tribe.  Now, 
the  way  it  looks  to  me,  an  Indian  doesn't  do  a 


THE  GRIZZLY-WOMAN  59 

thing  for  nothin'.  He  wouldn't  go  to  imitate  a 
wolf-man  if  there  hadn't  ever  been  any.  That 
looks  to  me  as  if  there  might  be  somethin'  to  it." 

"Well,"  retorted  Hunch  Capton,  "I  don't  pre- 
tend to  know  what  all  those  stories  are  worth. 
Bein'  sheriff,  I'm  a  whole  lot  quicker  on  a  fact 
than  a  yarn.  As  for  these  here  tracks,  if  Quick 
Feather  says  they  aren't  those  of  a  wolf,  so  far 
as  I'm  in  the  deal,  that  goes.  However,  that's 
no  special  business  o'  mine.  Blue  Joe  Keary  was 
killed  by  a  mountain  lion,  an'  the  bu'stin'  o'  his 
gun  is  responsible.  That  goes  as  she  lays.  Any 
one  who  wants  to,  can  follow  up  the  Wolf -Woman 
story.  I've  somethin'  else  to  think  of. 

"There's  one  thing,  though,"  the  sheriff  con- 
tinued, "an'  that's  about  the  kid.  Before  I  go 
back,  I'd  like  to  savvy  what's  goin'  to  come  to 
him." 

"He's  got  a  job  on  the  XO  Ranch,  any  time  he 
likes  to  come  around,"  the  ranch  boss  replied, 
promptly;  "he  can  help  around  with  the  chuck, 
now,  an'  maybe  ride  fence  next  year,  when  he 
gets  a  trifle  bigger." 

Gavan  flashed  a  look  of  gratitude  at  the  ranch 
boss. 

"That  would  be  fine,  Jack,"  he  said,  "but—"  . 


60      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

"Well?" 

"I'd  rather  wait  until  I  can  ride  the  range." 

"Knockin'  about  with  the  cook  wouldn't  siut 
you,  eh?"  queried  the  other. 

1 '  It  isn  't  only  that, ' '  answered  the  boy,  anxious 
to  dispel  the  impression  that  he  was  afraid  to 
work,  "but  Blue  Joe  had  a  bunch  of  cattle.  It's 
not  such  a  big  bunch,  but  I'd  like  to  keep  it  going, 
if  I  could." 

"Maybe,"  answered  the  ranch  boss,  "but  the 
cattle  business  isn't  any  lie-down-and-let-me- 
dream  game  nowadays,  especially  with  a  few  head. 
I'm  willin'  to  bet  that  Blue  Joe  made  more  out  of 
his  gun  an'  his  traps  than  he  ever  did  out  of  his 
cattle." 

"I  believe  he  did,"  the  boy  agreed,  "but  I  used 
to  help  him  with  those,  too." 

"You  mean  that  you  want  to  play  the  hand 
alone?" 

"If  I  can,  Jack,  sure!"  declared  Gavan  ear- 
nestly, looking  frankly  into  the  stern  face  of  the 
ranch  boss. 

"Live  alone,  cook  your  own  chuck,  an'  swing 
the  deal  without  even  a  partner  ? ' ' 

"Why  not?" 


THE  GRIZZLY-WOMAN  61 

"An'  no  white  man  within  ten  miles  o'  the 
place?" 

1  'I've  never  had  any  trouble  with  the  Mexi- 
cans," the  lad  answered,  "and  I  wouldn't  really 
be  alone.  Quick  Feather  lives  at  the  pueblo,  of 
course,  but  he's  got  land  only  a  mile  and  a  half 
away  and  comes  over  often.  I  wouldn't  be  lonely, 
Jack,  really. ' ' 

The  ranch  boss  looked  at  the  sheriff. 

"What  do  you  think  o'  that,  Hunch?"  he 
queried. 

Hunch  Capton  looked  thoughtfully  first  at  the 
boy,  then  at  the  ranch  boss,  and  finally  at  the  old 
Indian. 

"I'd  like  to  speak  to  you  a  minute,"  he  said  to 
Thin-lip  Jack. 

The  two  men  walked  aside  a  few  steps. 

"You  know,  Jack,"  began  the  sheriff,  "in  a  way, 
the  boy's  right.  If  he  stays  on  the  ranch,  he's 
got  some  thin';  if  he  doesn't,  he  has  nothin'.  He 
might  have  trouble  provin'  his  title  to  the  land  if 
he  tried  to  sell  it,  or  if  any  of  us  tried  to  sell  it  for 
him,  because  Blue  Joe  didn't  leave  a  will,  and  a 
cousin  isn  't  likely  to  be  the  next  o '  kin. ' ' 

The  ranch  boss  nodded  his  understanding. 


62      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

"Same  way  with  the  stock,"  the  sheriff  con- 
tinued. "Who  really  owns  that  stock?  It's  a 
puzzle.  While  if  the  lad  stays  on  the  ranch  an' 
keeps  it  goin',  no  one's  likely  to  challenge  his 
right.  No  stranger  could  jump  it.  No  one  could 
buy  it  an'  get  a  clear  title  with  the  boy  in  occupa- 
tion. An'  if  he  stays  on  it  an'  works  it  for  ten 
years,  he'll  have  squatters'  right  of  his  own,  re- 
gardless o'  Blue  Joe's  leavin's." 

"That's  a  pat  hand,"  the  ranch  boss  agreed. 

"Then  there's  the  line  o'  traps,  too.  You  know 
the  rule.  As  long  as  he  keeps  the  line  up,  it's 
his  line.  If  he  lets  it  go,  some  one  else  can  jump 
in." 

"Clear  enough,"  agreed  the  other,  "an'  I  can 
see  where  you're  headin'.  But  the  kid's  so  tarna- 
tion young  to  be  buckin'  the  world.  He  ain't 
much  more'n  a  yearlin',  when  you  come  to  look  at 
it.  I  ain't  what  you'd  call  tender-hearted,  Hunch, 
but  I  hate  to  saddle  an'  bridle  a  colt  that  ain't 
come  to  his  full  strength  yet." 

"You're  dead  right,  Jack,"  the  sheriff  agreed, 
"he's  just  a  youngster,  that's  sure.  But  that's 
a  fault  he'll  grow  out  of  in  a  hurry.  Besides,  he's 
a  western-raised  boy,  leastways,  he's  been  west- 
ern-raised with  Blue  Joe  for  a  good  many  years 


THE  GRIZZLY-WOMAN  63 

now.  I  miss  my  guess  if  he  hasn't  done  just  about 
as  much  for  Blue  Joe  as  Blue  Joe  ever  did  for  him. 
Keary  wasn't  a  lily-handed  nurse,  I  reckon." 

But  the  ranch  boss,  though  popular  opinion 
would  have  named  him  as  the  one  man  in  the  com- 
munity least  likely  to  concern  himself  in  a  senti- 
mental matter,  was  far  from  satisfied. 

"You  may  be  callin'  the  turn,  Hunch,"  he  said, 
"but  it  doesn't  hit  me  right,  yet.  A  steer  can't 
hook  till  his  horns  are  grown,  an'  there's  always 
varmints  after  a  herd.  A  youngster  only  fourteen 
years  old  ain't  fit  to  be  the  boss  of  his  own  doin's. 
Suppose  one  o'  those  tricky  half-breed  lawyers 
should  get  hold  o'  the  business?  He'd  skin  the 
kid  out  o'  land,  stock,  an'  everything  else  so  quick 
he  'd  never  know  what  happened. '  * 

The  sheriff  looked  appreciatively  at  the  ranch 
boss. 

"By  the  ears  of  a  rattler,  old  sport,"  he  ex- 
claimed, "you're  on  the  dot,  there.  I'd  never 
thought  of  that.  And  the  lad's  a  minor,  too." 

He  pondered  for  a  minute  or  two. 

"See  here,  Jack,"  he  said  at  last,  "suppose  you, 
I,  an'  Quick  Feather  should  go  to  old  Judge 
Adams  an'  locate  ourselves  as  guardians  or 
trustees  or  somethin'  for  the  kid  until  he  comes 


64      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

of  age  or  until  we  reckon  he's  old  enough  to  be 
able  to  take  care  of  himself!  Then  we  can  stake 
him  to  whatever  he  needs,  handle  the  sellin'  of  his 
cattle  for  him,  send  some  o'  the  boys  to  help  him 
with  his  round-up,  give  him  a  job  whenever  there's 
a  chance  around,  an'  then,  when  he's  old  enough, 
he  '11  have  a  little  stake  of  his  own,  in  case  he  wants 
to  break  into  some  other  line  o '  work  later. ' ' 

"Now  you're  talkin',"  said  the  ranch  boss; 
"I'll  sit  in  on  that  hand.  But  why  do  you  pick 
Quick  Feather?  Oughtn't  we  to  have  another 
white  man  I ' ' 

"Quick  Feather's  as  white  a  man  as  they  come," 
the  sheriff  retorted,  *  *  even  if  he  is  an  Indian.  But 
I'll  tell  you  why  I  thought  of  him.  You  won't 
make  any  bones  about  my  sayin'  that  you're  not 
the  timber  out  o '  which  fathers  are  made ! ' ' 

The  ranch  boss  gave  a  short  laugh.  He  was 
known  to  be  one  of  the  most  violent-tempered  men 
in  the  region,  though  generous  and  kindly  at 
bottom. 

"Well,"  he  agreed,  "maybe  I'm  not.  I  don't 
know  as  I've  ever  aimed  to  be." 

"Nor  am  I,"  answered  the  sheriff.  "Besides 
which,  I'm  too  busy,  an'  for  another  thing,  I'm 
not  what  you  might  call  a  good  risk.  Of  course, 


THE  GRIZZLY-WOMAN  65 

bein'  sheriff  nowadays  is  a  whole  lot  easier  than 
it  was  in  the  old  days.  It 's  only  in  the  movies  that 
a  western  sheriff  has  to  go  shootin'  desperadoes 
every  mornin'  before  breakfast.  I'll  bet  there's 
more  shootin'  in  New  York  City  in  a  month,  than 
there  is  in  the  whole  of  the  Southwestern  States  in 
ten  years.  But  at  that,  there's  a  few  folks  that 
have  the  sights  on  their  six-shooters  filed  close, 
layin'  for  me.  I  mean  cattle  rustlers  an'  the 
like.  Some  one  may  get  me  some  time.  That's 
the  chance  a  man  takes  in  my  job." 

''Unless  you  see  'em  first,"  Thin-lip  Jack  re- 
turned. 

"Which  I  generally  aim  to  do,"  the  sheriff  ad- 
mitted quietly.  "But  good  luck  won't  pan  out 
forever.  So,  Jack,  if  I'm  carried  out  feet  first 
with  my  boots  on,  some  day,  the  other  two  trustees 
will  have  to  choose  a  third.  We  can't  tell,  now, 
either  of  us,  who  that  might  be. 

"Now  Quick  Feather,  though  he's  an  Indian — or 
because  he's  an  Indian,  if  you  like — is  real  fa- 
therly, or  maybe  grandf  atherly.  You  know,  jest  as 
well  as  I  do,  that  when  it  comes  to  family  feelin' 
an'  family  trainin',  the  Indian  has  it  all  over  the 
white  man,  every  time.  An ',  what 's  more,  so  far 
as  I  can  make  out,  Quick  Feather's  been  the  boy's 


66      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

best  friend  this  long  while.  To  back  up  all  that, 
he's  the  kid's  nearest  neighbor,  except  for  a  bunch 
of  Mexicans." 

"Quick  Feather  may  be  ace-high  for  all  I  know, 
Hunch,"  the  ranch  boss  declared,  "I  don't  savvy 
Indians  much.  If  he  looks  good  to  you,  I'm  not 
going  to  queer  the  deal.  Let's  put  it  up  to  him." 

The  two  self-elected  trustees  then  joined  Quick 
Feather,  and  the  sheriff  explained  the  plan  in 
detail.  When  they  had  finished  the  Indian 
nodded. 

"I  watch  him  like  a  boy  of  my  pueblo,"  he 
declared. 

"That's  enough,"  said  the  sheriff,  confidently. 

He  turned  to  the  ranch  boss. 

"It's  like  pullin'  teeth  to  make  an  Indian  say 
anything,"  he  said,  "but,  in  a  case  like  this,  when 
he  does  promise,  it's  as  good  as  done.  You  can 
go  back  to  the  XO,  feelin'  easy,  old  sport;  the 
boy '11  be  in  good  hands." 

The  three  men  turned  to  where  Gavan  was 
standing. 

"See  here,  lad,"  the  sheriff  said,  "weVe  been 
talkin'  over  your  future,"  and  he  outlined  in  detail 
the  plan  of  the  three  trustees.  "In  undertaking 
to  play  the  hand  alone,  you're  layin'  oat  for  your- 


THE  GRIZZLY-WOMAN  67 

self  a  long  road,  full  o'  hard  work,  a  trail  that 
you'll  have  to  blaze  an'  travel  for  yourself.  But 
we're  with  you,  remember  that.  And,  while  it's 
a  long,  hard  trail,  it's  the  straight  trail  to  inde- 
pendence, an'  that's  a  Western  boy's  line  of 
travel,  every  time ! ' ' 


CHAPTER  in 

DOWNING  A   SELFISH   GREASEB 

GAVAN'S  life,  after  the  death  of  his  cousin, 
proved  to  be  by  no  means  as  lonely  as  the  sheriff 
had  feared.  Blue  Joe  Keary  had  never  been  talk- 
ative, and,  aside  from  the  fact  that  he  was  alone, 
the  boy  found  little  difference  in  conditions  at  the 
cabin  after  he  took  on  himself  the  sole  manage- 
ment of  the  affairs  of  the  little  ranch. 

The  boy's  first  big  surprise  came  a  week  or 
two  later  when  the  ranch  boss  rode  over  with  two 
Airedales  in  leash.  He  pulled  up  at  the  cabin, 
threw  the  reins  over  his  horse's  head  and  dis- 
mounted stiffly.  'Then,  slouching  over  with  the 
bow-legged  walk  characteristic  of  those  who  have 
spent  most  of  their  life  in  stiff  leather  chap- 
parejos,  he  thrust  the  ends  of  the  leashes  into  the 
lad's  hand. 

"Here,"  he  said  roughly,  "I've  brought  a 
couple  of  pards  along  for  you.  Train  'em  right 
an'  they'll  tackle  anything  that  moves  in  the 
woods." 

"You  mean  they're  for  me!"  exclaimed  Gavan, 

68 


DOWNING  A  GREASER  69 

scarcely  daring  to  believe  that  the  dogs  could 
really  be  for  him.  He  had  pined  for  Airedales 
ever  since  he  was  old  enough  to  know  their  value. 

"  They  're  your'n,  hide,  hair,  an'  hoof,"  the 
ranch  boss  returned.  "An'  you'll  soon  find  out 
that  you've  got  two  friends  there  that'll  never  go 
back  on  you." 

"I've  got  others  that  I  know  won't  go  back  on 
me,"  returned  the  boy,  looking  gratefully  at  the 
ranch  boss. 

"Well,  what  do  you  think!"  growled  the  old 
westerner.  "You  ain't  got  much  savvy  if  you  ex- 
pect folks  to  turn  you  down,  all  the  while.  Now, 
give  me  the  straight  of  it  about  your  cattle. 
How  many  head  have  you  got?" 

"All  told,  I've  got  forty-eight  head,"  the  boy 
answered.  "I  ought  to  have  more,  but  I've  lost 
a  lot  of  calves." 

"Wolves?"  queried  the  ranch  boss,  frowning. 
"We've  been  losin'  heavily,  too." 

'  *  Coyotes  and  bear, ' '  Gavan  answered ;  "  at  least 
I  ran  across  the  carcase  of  a  yearling  that  had 
been  all  chewed  up  by  a  bear." 

"An'  how's  the  range?"  came  the  next  query. 

"None  too  good,"  the  boy  responded.  "It  was 
all  right  last  year,  but  it 's  been  so  dry  this  spring 


70      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

that  the  feed  is  scant.    The  cattle  are  bone-thin. ' ' 

"There's  a-plenty  of  feed  in  the  meadow  parks 
'way  up  near  timber  line,"  remarked  the  ranch 
boss. 

"Like  enough,"  agreed  the  boy,  "but  I  don't 
own  any  land  up  there.  You  don't  suppose  I 
could  afford  to  lease  any,  do  you?" 

"No  need,"  answered  the  ranch  boss.  "My 
place  is  over  a  hundred  thousand  acres  an'  I'm 
not  runnin'  more  than  three  thousand  head  on  it 
this  year.  Your  little  bunch  wouldn  't  be  noticed. 
Are  your  beasts  all  branded!" 

"Sure!"  declared  the  boy.  "Blue  Joe  and  I 
did  that  last  spring." 

"All  right,"  said  the  ranch  boss,  turning  away 
and  going  towards  his  pony.  "Any  time  you  feel 
like  it,  drive  your  bunch  up  Pot  Creek.  There's 
a  plenty  bear  up  there,  but  I  reckon  you  won't 
lose  any  more  beasts  on  the  mountains  than  you 
will  down  here  in  the  foot-hills  among  the 
coyotes." 

"But  I  can't  do  'that  without  paying  you," 
protested  the  boy;  "it  wouldn't  be  square!" 

"Square  nothin',"  the  ranch  boss  answered, 
swinging  heavily  into  the  saddle.  "You  keep 
your  line  o '  coyote  traps  goin '  an '  that  '11  help  the 


DOWNING  A  GREASER  71 

ranch  enough  to  more'n  pay  for  the  grass  that 
little  bunch  o'  yours '11  eat. 

*  *  Oh,  and  by  the  way, ' '  he  continued,  *  *  this  place 
o'  yours,  lyin',  like  it  does,  along  close  by  the 
Little  Rio  Grande,  could  be  made  to  raise  alfalfa, 
eh?" 

"It  sure  could,"  the  boy  agreed,  "if  the  land 
were  worked  up  and  I  could  get  water  up  here." 

The  ranch  boss  swung  one  leg  over  the  horn 
of  his  saddle  and  turned  to  face  the  boy. 

"An'  why  in  tarnation  can't  ye  have  water?" 
he  said.  "There's  a  toad's  plenty  o'  water  in 
the  river." 

"Mexicans,"  answered  the  boy,  simply.  "Blue 
Joe  was  talkin'  about  that  one  day.  He  started 
to  dig  an  irrigation  ditch,  up-stream,  an'  the 
Greasers  promptly  told  him  they  had  all  the  water 
rights  along  the  river." 

The  eyes  of  the  ranch  boss  narrowed. 

"They  did,  eh?"  he  said,  grimly.  "Well,  you 
go  ahead  with  that  ditch,  an'  if  any  Greaser  says 
anything,  tell  'em  they've  got  the  XO  Ranch  to 
deal  with  first  an'  the  sheriff  afterwards." 

"But  if  they  have  the  right?"  queried  Gavan 
protestingly.  "I  don't  want  to  butt  in  on  an- 
other chap's  rights." 


72      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

"They've  got  water  rights,  sure  enough,"  the 
ranch  boss  agreed,  "an'  they've  got  'em  before 
you.  No  one's  a-goin'  to  deny  that.  But  water 
rights  are  for  usin',  not  for  wastin'.  There's 
water  enough  in  the  Little  Rio  Grande  to  irri- 
gate ten  times  the  land  that's  irrigated  now,  if 
it  was  properly  used.  There  ain't  no  court  that's 
goin '  to  allow  that  a  Greaser  has  the  right  to  waste 
water  an'  prevent  a  white  man  from  usin'  it. 
Leastways,  there  ain  't  no  New  Mexico  court  that 's 
a-goin'  to  do  it.  Special,"  he  added,  "when  the 
XO  an'  the  sheriff's  back  of  you." 

The  boy  looked  dubious. 

"I'd  hate  to  get  the  Mexicans  down  on  me,"  he 
said.  "I'm  pretty  good  friends  with  them  now, 
and  they  could  make  it  mighty  unpleasant." 

The  ranch  boss  ran  his  hand  over  his  stubbly 
chin. 

"Maybe  you're  right,"  he  said.  "Don't  cross 
'em  none.  But  go  ahead  with  the  ditch  just  the 
same,  an'  if  they  make  a  fuss,  say  that  I'm  payin' 
you  to  do  it.  I'll  guarantee  to  buy  all  the  alfalfa 
hay  you  can  raise  at  the  market  price." 

"But  the  plowing!"  asked  the  boy.  "I 
haven't  a  team  or  farm  machinery  or  anything." 

"Hire  it  done,"  said  the  ranch  boss.     "Get  the 


DOWNING  A  GREASER  73 

Indians  to  do  it  for  you.  Quick  Feather  will 
make  the  contract.  Don't  you  do  it,  or  you'll  get 
in  wrong.  It  takes  an  Indian  to  handle  an  Indian. 
Then,  when  the  work's  done,  send  the  bill  to  me." 

"But — ,"  the  boy  began,  but  the  ranch  boss 
cut  him  off. 

"I  ain't  aimin'  to  give  you  charity,"  he  said, 
surmising  what  was  coming.  "I'll  charge  that 
bill  against  your  hay  in  the  fall.  An'  that's  all 
there  is  to  it." 

He  swung  his  leg  back  into  the  stirrup  and 
touched  the  spurs  to  his  sturdy  cow-pony. 

"Bring  up  them  dogs  right,"  he  concluded,  as 
he  jogged  off,  "an'  you'll  have  friends  enough 
'round  the  place." 

Gavan  began  to  voice  his  thanks,  but  the  rider 
loped  off  out  of  hearing. 

When  the  ranch  boss  had  gone,  the  boy  began  to 
think  over  what  had  happened.  He  saw  at  once 
that  the  backing  of  the  all-powerful  XO  ranch 
meant  everything  to  him.  His  small  bunch  of 
cattle  would  get  the  best  of  the  range,  at  practi- 
cally no  expense  to  him,  and,  for  that  matter,  at  no 
expense  to  the  ranch.  His  own  little  place  would 
be  worth  a  great  deal  more,  if  put  into  cultiva- 
tion, and,  as  long  as  the  XO  intended  to  winter 


74      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

a  large  bunch  of  cattle,  there  would  always  be  a 
local  market  for  his  hay.  Better  still,  if  he  could 
run  the  irrigating  ditch  from  the  river,  a  large 
part  of  his  holding,  which  had  been  absolutely 
worthless  before,  might  become  of  value.  There 
remained  only  the  question  of  the  opposition  of 
the  Mexicans,  and  he  knew  that  they  were  ex- 
tremely jealous  of  their  water  rights. 

Realizing  that  the  ditch  was  the  most  important 
thing  to  begin  with,  Gavan  rounded  up  his  cattle 
on  his  little  cow-pony,  taking  the  advantage  to 
give  the  Airedale  pups  some  idea  of  what  they 
might  run  and  might  not.  Duff,  the  nondescript 
hound,  while  duly  respectful  of  the  better-bred 
dogs,  none  the  less  was  able  to  hold  his  own  be- 
cause of  his  familiarity  with  western  conditions. 
Together,  the  three  dogs  made  an  admirable  pack. 
The  cattle  were  driven  up  the  rough  trail  up  Pot 
Creek  with  very  little  trouble,  and  Gavan  returned 
the  next  day,  having  seen  his  little  herd  cropping 
the  abundant  grass  on  the  upper  slopes  of  the 
mountains,  from  which  the  snow  had  not  all 
melted,  but  lay  in  patches  here  and  there. 

Bright  and  early  the  next  morning  Gavan 
started  off  with  a  long-handled  shovel  to  dig  his 
irrigation  ditch.  In  that  soil,  which  is  so  sticky 


DOWNING  A  GREASER  75 

that  houses  are  built  simply  of  walls  of  clay,  an 
irrigation  ditch  is  the  simplest  thing  in  the  world 
to  make,  provided  the  levels  are  run  right.  This 
work  was  already  done  for  Gavan,  for  he  had 
found  the  levels  on  which  Blue  Joe  Keary  had 
commenced  to  work  before  he  had  been  stopped 
by  the  Mexicans,  two  years  before. 

Realizing  that  he  would  have  no  difficulty  in 
running  the  ditch  across  his  own  land,  and  that  the 
fight,  if  there  was  to  be  one,  would  probably  come 
from  the  running  of  the  ditch  over  a  piece  of  un- 
used land,  but  which  undoubtedly  belonged  to 
some  Mexican  settler  or  other,  Gavan  began  a 
few  feet  away  from  the  river.  It  would  take  him, 
he  knew,  almost  a  month's  work  merely  to  dig  the 
narrow  ditch  eighteen  inches  wide  and  the  same 
deep  over  the  couple  of  miles,  provided  that  he 
was  let  alone.  There  was,  therefore,  no  time  to 
waste. 

Towards  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  a  Mexican 
came  riding  by  on  his  pony.  He  stopped  and 
watched  the  boy  for  a  few  minutes.  Gavan  bid 
him  " Good-day"  in  Spanish,  which  the  Mexican 
courteously  returned.  The  conversation  did  not 
proceed  further.  Towards  evening,  another  Mex- 
ican cantered  up,  looked  at  the  work  the  boy  was 


76      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

doing  and  rode  off  again  without  saying  a  word. 

It  was  clear  that  trouble  was  brewing. 

Bright  and  early  the  next  morning,  Gavan  was 
again  at  work.  He  had  done  a  couple  of  hundred 
yards  the  day  before,  and  he  had  figured  that  if 
he  could  keep  up  the  pace,  the  little  ditch  which 
would  bring  the  life-giving  water  to  his  ranch 
could  be  done  in  three  weeks. 

He  had  hardly  been  at  work  an  hour  when  three 
Mexicans  rode  up  together.  The  foremost 
stopped  and  said,  in  English,  to  Gavan, 

"This  land  belongs  to  Antonio  Moreno." 

He  motioned  to  the  Mexican  who  had  reined  up 
beside  him. 

Gavan,  leaning  on  his  spade,  nodded  in  a 
friendly  manner  to  the  proprietor  of  the  land. 

"So?"  he  said,  questioningly.  "It  isn't 
fenced. ' ' 

The  first  speaker  continued,  courteously,  but 
with  a  definite  menace  in  his  voice. 

"The  father  and  grandfather  of  Antonio  have 
been  on  this  land  for  forty  years  and  more." 

"Yes?"  again  queried  Gavan,  determined  not 
to  say  anything  which  might  provoke  controversy. 

"Perhaps  you  do  not  know,"  the  Mexican  con- 
tinued, "that  by  herd  law  any  settler  who  has 


DOWNING  A  GREASER  77 

lived  continuously  for  more  than  ten  years  on  a 
certain  place  and  has  run  cattle  over  it  for  ten 
years  in  succession  and  has  built  a  home  on  it,  has 
a  clear  title." 

"Sure,"  agreed  Gavan  promptly,  for  this  was 
exactly  the  basis  on  which  he  was  holding  the  land 
that  had  been  squatted  by  his  cousin,  "I  know 
that.  I  didn't  know  that  any  one  claimed  Senor 
Moreno's  land." 

The  Mexican  pointed  to  the  ditch. 

"Did  Antonio  Moreno  give  you  permission  to 
run  a  ditch  across  his  land?"  he  asked. 

"If  Senor  Moreno  holds  his  land  under  the  herd 
law,"  the  boy  replied,  seeing  that  his  opportunity 
had  come,  "there  is  no  need  to  ask  his  permission 
to  run  an  irrigating  ditch.  It  does  not  injure 
his  land.  On  the  contrary,  it  improves  it." 

At  this,  the  rearmost  of  the  three  Mexicans,  a 
dark-faced,  heavy-browed  man,  spoke,  in  Spanish, 

"It  takes  water  out  of  the  river,"  he  said,  "and 
injures  the  water  rights  of  every  settler  in  the 
valley." 

Gavan  spoke  to  the  first  speaker,  recognizing 
him  as  the  spokesman  for  the  crowd. 

"Is  this  gentleman  a  part  owner  of  Senor 
Moreno's  land?"  he  asked. 


78      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

"No,"  the  Mexican  answered,  "he  has  a  large 
farm  just  a  little  distance  down  the  river,  near 
the  village.  All  the  farms  in  the  valley  have 
water  rights,  and  if  water  is  taken  out  of  the 
river  higher  up,  it  injures  the  flow.  I  am  sorry, 
but  we  cannot  allow  you  to  continue  digging  the 
ditch." 

Gavan  looked  straight  at  the  man,  then  played 
his  trump  card. 

"I'm  digging  this  for  the  XO  Ranch,"  he  said. 
"I'm  afraid  you'll  have  to  explain  it  to  them.  I 
can't  do  anything  else  but  go  ahead  as  I'm  told." 

The  three  Mexicans  looked  at  each  other. 

"In  what  way  is  the  XO  Ranch  interested?" 
queried  the  foremost. 

"I'll  have  to  refer  you  to  Jack  Willis,"  the  boy 
returned. 

"Thin-lip  Jack?" 

"Yes." 

Evidently  the  name  was  one  to  conjure  with,  for 
a  gloomy  silence  fell  on  the  three  men.  It  was 
the  leading  Mexican  who  spoke  first. 

"We  will  take  up  the  matter  with  Jack  Willis," 
he  said,  "and,  in  the  meantime,  you  will  stop 
work." 

"You  can  take  up  the  matter  with  Jack  Willis," 


DOWNING  A  GREASER  79 

retorted  Gavan,  ''and,  in  the  meantime,  I  shall 
continue  work." 

Whereupon,  to  give  force  and  point  to  his  re- 
mark, the  boy  drove  his  spade  into  the  ground  and 
turned  over  another  foot  of  soil. 

The  Mexican  scowled. 

"Blue  Joe  Keary  began,"  said  the  leader,  "and 
he  is  dead." 

"But  Thin-lip  Jack  is  very  much  alive,"  the  lad 
retorted. 

"You  will  quit  work!"  threatened  the  Mexi- 
can. 

"When  I  get  orders  from  the  XO,  not  before," 
replied  Gavan  sturdily,  and,  acting  as  though  the 
Mexicans  were  no  longer  there,  he  continued  dig- 
ging, disregarding  them  as  though  they  were  but 
fence-posts,  or  features  of  the  landscape. 

This  contempt,  of  all  things  the  most  galling  to 
a  Mexican 's  half-Spanish,  half -Indian  pride,  irked 
the  men  sorely,  but  there  was  nothing  that  they 
could  do.  They  would  cheerfully  have  shot  or 
knifed  the  boy,  but  the  wild  days  have  passed  in 
New  Mexico,  and,  besides,  even  in  the  bad  old 
days,  they  would  have  hesitated  before  delib- 
erately bringing  down  the  wrath  of  the  white  com- 
munity on  their  heads.  The  opposition  of  the 


8o      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

XO  punchers  was  not  a  matter  to  be  trifled  with, 
either.  Accordingly,  after  a  time,  the  three  Mexi- 
cans rode  off,  with  muttered  Spanish  oaths. 

Next  morning,  Gavan,  coming  to  his  work,  found 
his  ditch  filled  up  and  level  with  the  ground.  His 
three  days'  toil  had  gone  for  nothing. 

The  Mexicans'  revenge  had  begun. 

Gavan  sat  down  on  a  little  knoll  and  studied  the 
situation.  Certainly,  as  long  as  this  ditch  was 
running  over  the  Mexican's  land,  there  would 
always  be  the  probability  that  it  would  be  filled 
up,  and  an  hour's  work  in  the  evening  could  de- 
stroy all  that  he  had  done  the  day  before. 

From  the  Mexicans '  point  of  view,  the  plan  was 
a  good  one.  It  did  not  imbroil  them  with  the  XO, 
for  they  could  assume  absolute  ignorance  of  the 
plot.  It  did  not  directly  bring  them  into  conflict 
with  the  boy,  and  there  was  no  evidence  that  could 
be  brought  before  the  courts. 

Gavan  pondered  long  before  he  hit  on  a  plan. 
Then,  chuckling  to  himself,  he  went  back  to  his 
little  cabin  and  got  out  a  large  square  of  canvas 
which  he  used  when  setting  his  traps.  Fastening 
strings  to  the  sides  and  corners  of  this  and  cut- 
ting a  couple  of  short  forked  poles,  he  went  back 
in  the  afternoon  to  his  work,  and  commenced 


Courtesy  of  Alexander  Lambert,  M  D. 

SAFE  FROM  THE. DOGS  BUT  NOT  FROM  A  GUN. 


DOWNING  A  GREASER  81 

clearing  away  the  debris  that  the  Mexicans  had 
tumbled  back  into  the  portion  of  the  ditch  which  he 
had  already  dug. 

When  evening  came,  Gavan  unpacked  the 
bundle,  stuck  the  two  poles  in  the  ground,  making 
from  the  canvas  a  small  tent,  untied  a  small  sack 
of  provisions  and  sat  down  to  supper,  the  three 
dogs  at  his  heels.  The  simple  meal  over,  he 
stretched  out  his  tent  and,  rolling  himself  in  a 
blanket,  lay  down  either  to  watch  or  to  sleep,  as 
the  case  might  be. 

He  had  hardly  been  asleep  an  hour  when  he 
awoke  suddenly,  hearing  voices,  and,  peering  out, 
he  saw  half  a  dozen  Mexicans,  gathered  in  a  group, 
pointing  to  the  tent  and  gesticulating  violently. 
Presently  one  of  the  men  came  forward  and 
shouted. 

Gavan  crept  out  of  the  tent,  the  dogs  at  his 
heels. 

* '  This  is  my  land, ' '  said  the  speaker,  who  proved 
to  be  Antonio  Moreno,  the  owner,  "I  don't  allow 
trespassing." 

"I'm  here  looking  after  my  ditch,"  the  boy 
began,  but  the  other  cut  him  short. 

" Ditch  has  nothing  to  do  with  camping,"  he 
said,  brusquely.  "If  I  don't  want  suspicious 


82      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

characters  on  my  land,  I  don't  have  to  have  them. 
Get  out  of  here!" 

Gavan  bit  his  lip.  He  had  been  so  interested 
in  his  ditch  that  he  had  forgotten  other  rights 
of  the  owner.  There  was  no  doubt  that  he  was 
trespassing.  He  racked  his  brain  for  a  suitable 
retort  or  an  excuse,  but  found  none.  Sulkily,  he 
kicked  down  the  poles  that  held  his  tent,  rolled  up 
canvas,  blanket  and  sack  of  provisions,  and  set  off 
across  the  sage-brush  without  a  word. 

The  Mexicans,  all  silent,  watched  him  go. 
They  made  no  taunt.  A  Mexican  will  often  be 
mean,  but  rarely  discourteous. 

Next  morning  found  Gavan  in  a  brown  study. 
He  did  not  want  to  go  to  the  ranch  boss  with  his 
troubles,  for  he  saw  clearly  enough  that,  so  far, 
he  had  no  evidence  against  the  Mexicans.  There 
was  a  strong  presumption  that  it  was  Antonio 
Moreno  and  his  f  rends  who  had  filled  up  his  ditch, 
but  presumption  was  not  proof.  And,  so  far  as 
his  camping  there  was  concerned,  he  had  un- 
doubtedly been  in  the  wrong. 

He  racked  his  brains  this  way  and  that  to  try 
and  find  some  way  of  getting  proof  that  the  Mexi- 
cans were  each  night  undoing  the  work  that  he 


DOWNING  A  GREASER  83 

was  doing  in  the  day,  but  how  to  get  that  proof 
without  trespassing  at  the  same  time  was  a 
serious  problem.  Then  his  eye  happened  to 
fall  on  a  mail  order  catalogue,  which  was  lying 
on  a  shelf  in  the  corner,  one  of  those  books  which 
makes  its  way  into  nearly  every  farm  and  ranch- 
house  in  the  country,  and  a  brilliant  idea  struck 
him. 

1  'By  the  hind  hoofs  of  a  mule!"  he  exclaimed, 
using  one  of  Blue  Joe's  pet  expressions,  "I've  got 
it!" 

He  snatched  his  hat  from  the  table  and  struck 
out  of  the  door  across  the  meager  pasture  to 
where  his  pony  was  trying  to  crop  a  meal  from 
the  scanty  grass. 

He  rode  straight  into  town  and  stopped  at  the 
sheriff's  house.  Hunch  Capton  was  in  and 
greeted  him  warmly,  insisting  on  the  lad's  stay- 
ing to  dinner.  Not  until  the  meal  was  over  did 
Gavan  have  a  chance  to  broach  the  subject  which 
had  brought  him  to  town. 

1  'Mr.  Capton,"  he  asked,  "have  you  got  a 
camera  ? ' ' 

"No,"  answered  the  sheriff,  "I  haven't.  I  can 
most  generally  remember  the  faces  of  the  men 


84      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

I'm  looking  for,  or  them  that's  lookin'  for  me." 

The  boy's  expression  changed  to  disappoint- 
ment. 

' '  Why  ? ' '  asked  the  sheriff  kindly.  "  Is  it  some- 
thin'  you  want  real  bad?" 

"I  just  wanted  it  for  one  night,"  declared 
Gavan.  "And  it  is  important,  ever  so  important. 
It  means  a  lot  to  me ! " 

"Suppose  you  tell  me  all  about  it,"  suggested 
the  sheriff,  and,  thus  prompted,  the  boy  recounted 
the  refilling  of  the  ditch  and  his  eviction  for  tres- 
passing. 

"Pretty  slick  "  remarked  the  sheriff,  when  the 
story  was  told.  "What  did  you  reckon  to  do 
about  it?" 

"Why  I  had  thought  of  a  plan,"  answered 
Gavan,  and  he  explained  in  detail  the  project  he 
had  conceived  that  morning. 

The  sheriff  sat  back  in  his  chair,  a  quiet  smile 
overspreading  his  features. 

"It's  a  smooth  scheme!"  he  declared.  "Wait 
here  a  minute,  Gavan.  I  think  I  can  get  you  a 
camera  and  the  fixin's.  The  Forest  Supervisor, 
here,  has  one,  and  he'd  lend  me  his  front  teeth 
if  I  asked  him." 

He  was  not  gone  a  quarter  of  an  hour  when  he 


DOWNING  A  GREASER  85 

came  back,  with  as  satisfied  a  smile  on  his  face  as 
if  he  had  succeeded  in  getting  the  better  of  a 
notorious  cattle-rustler  or  a  would-be  "bad  man." 

"Here  she  is,"  he  declared,  holding  out  a 
camera  to  the  boy,  "hide,  hair,  'n'  hoof,  an' 
the  Supervisor  said  you  were  to  go  right  over  to 
his  place,  an'  he'll  explain  everything  you  might 
want  to  know  about  layin '  the  trap.  But,  Gavan, 
while  I  was  out,  I  thought  of  a  little  hitch  in  your 
plan." 

"What's  that?"  asked  the  boy. 

"Well,"  said  the  sheriff,  "as  I  understand  it, 
you  want  to  sort  of  fix  this  thing  like  you  was  set- 
tin'  a  trap  to  catch  a  coyote.  Tell  me  again,  just 
how  you  aim  to  work  it." 

"Well,"  said  Gavan,  "I  figured  that  if  it's  all 
right  for  me  to  dig  the  ditch,  it  must  be  all  wrong 
for  any  one  to  smash  it  up  to  bits." 

"Right,"  said  the  sheriff,  nodding  his  head, 
"it's  interferin'  with  a  public  improvement,  or, 
leastways,  it  might  be  took  that  way." 

"Now,"  said  the  boy,  "if  I  could  photograph 
some  one  actually  engaged  in  filling  in  that  ditch, 
I'd  have  proof  against  them." 

"Sure." 

"But  since  they  do  it  at  night,  there  wouldn't 


86      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

be  light  enough  to  take  a  photograph,  so  it  would 
have  to  be  done  by  flashlight." 

" Bight  again." 

1  'But,"  the  lad  continued,  ''if  I  went  around 
hunting  for  them  with  a  camera  and  a  flashlight 
apparatus,  they'd  likely  see  me  before  I  could 
see  them,  and  certainly  before  I  could  get  the 
camera  focussed  and  everything  fixed." 

"Another  bull's-eye,"  the  sheriff  agreed. 

"So  I  figured,"  went  on  Gavan,  "that  if  I  could 
fix  the  camera  and  the  flashlight  to  a  long  piece 
of  fish-line,  stretched  all  the  way  along  the  earth 
that  I've  thrown  up  out  of  the  ditch,  the  very 
second  that  anybody  put  a  spade  in  the  dirt  to 
throw  it  back,  they  would  jerk  the  string,  fire  the 
flashlight,  and  the  picture  would  take  of  itself." 

"Your  plan  is  0.  K,"  said  the  sheriff,  "but, 
as  I. said  to  you,  there's  a  hitch  in  it.  Do  you  see 
where  it  is  I " 

"Where!"  queried  the  boy. 

"What's  goin'  to  happen  to  the  camera?"  the 
older  man  suggested.  ' '  Do  you  suppose  that  after 
they'd  let  themselves  be  took  in  that  way,  a  bunch 
of  Greasers  would  just  stand  around  a  while  an' 
go  home!  Not  on  your  life.  They'd  find  that 
camera  an'  either  shoot  it  full  of  holes  or  throw 


DOWNING  A  GREASER  87 

it  in  the  river.  Anyway,  you  wouldn't  see  it 
again. ' ' 

Gavan  dropped  into  a  chair,  the  picture  of 
despair. 

"I'd  never  thought  of  that!"  he  said.  "And 
if  I'm  there  to  grab  it,  I'm  trespassing  again." 

He  pondered  for  a  moment. 

"Mr.  Capton,"  he  said,  "couldn't  I  just  hide 
there,  and  when  the  flashlight  went  off,  grab  the 
camera  and  run!" 

"You  could,"  the  sheriff  answered,  "but  even  in 
the  dark  the  Mexicans  would  be  likely  to  shoot 
around  promiscuous.  An'  one  of  the  bullets  might 
chance  to  hit.  What's  more,  your  evidence 
wouldn't  be  any  good,  because  to  bring  it  into 
court  you'd  have  to  prove  that  you  were  there, 
which  would  be  trespassin'  an'  they  could  bring 
a  counter-suit  an'  make  all  sorts  of  trouble  for 
you  about  it.  No,  I've  thought  of  a  better  idea 
than  that." 

"What?"  asked  the  boy,  eagerly. 

"Sleep  in  the  ditch,"  said  the  sheriff. 

Gavan  looked  at  him  with  a  puzzled  manner. 

"I  don't  get  you,"  he  said. 

The  sheriff  smiled. 

"We're  agreed,"  he  said,  "that  you  have  a 


88      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

right  to  dig  an  irrigation  ditch  across  uncultivated 
ranch  land  the  title  of  which  is  held  by  herd  law, 
providin'  the  ditch  doesn't  interfere  with  the 
value  of  the  land  an'  doesn't  rob  any  other  people 
of  water  rights,  to  the  extent  of  injuring  their 
property.  Therefore  that  ditch  is  yours." 

1  'Well?"  queried  Gavan. 

"That  ditch,"  the  sheriff  repeated,  "becomes 
yours  as  soon  as  you  dig  it." 

"I  don't  see  your  point  yet,"  declared  the  boy. 

"If  the  ditch  is  yours,"  repeated  the  sheriff, 
"it's  your  land,  too,  isn't  it!" 

"You  mean  the  actual  ditch!" 

"Sure.  And  if,  in  diggin'  the  ditch,  you  should 
make  a  place  deep  enough  to  lie  in,  you  wouldn't 
be  trespassin',  would  you?  You'd  be  on  your  own 
land." 

The  boy  looked  eager,  but  dubious. 

"Do  you  suppose  that  would  hold  in  law?"  he 
asked. 

"I  don't  know  much  about  the  legal  end  of  it," 
the  sheriff  replied,  "but  I'm  right  sure  it  would 
hold  in  this  court  in  Taos.  A  white  man  isn't 
goin'  to  give  judgment  for  a  Mexican  against  a 
white  man,  special  when  the  good  o '  the  country 's 


DOWNING  A  GREASER  89 

on  the  white  man's  side.  You  go  ahead  and  set 
your  camera  an'  your  flashlight,  Gavan,  an',  when 
it  gets  good  and  dark,  jest  lie  down  full  length 
in  the  dry  ditch.  If  the  scheme  works  an'  you 
get  the  photo  of  the  Mexicans,  don't  come  out  o' 
the  ditch.  Stay  there  till  mornin',  when  you  can 
go  ahead  an'  work.  If  Moreno  and  the  rest  say 
anything  about  it,  an'  want  to  show  up  nasty, 
jest  tell  'em  that  I  told  you  to  go  ahead." 

Gavan  thanked  the  sheriff  heartily  and  hurried 
over  to  the  office  of  the  Forest  Supervisor,  to  learn 
all  that  he  could  about  the  setting  of  the  camera 
and  the  placing  of  the  flashlight. 

That  night,  just  as  it  was  getting  dusk,  Gavan 
took  his  spade  and  widened  out  a  section  of  the 
dry  ditch  deep  enough  for  him  to  lie  in,  laid  a 
slicker  and  his  blanket  in  the  widened  ditch  and 
curled  himself  down  to  watch. 

He  had  not  long  to  wait. 

Soon  after  it  became  quite  dark,  the  boy  heard 
the  sound  of  horses'  hoofs  and  of  voices,  and 
presently  he  could  distinguish  in  the  starlight 
three  or  four  dim  forms.  The  boy's  fingers 
trembled  on  the  flashlight  trigger,  but  he  remem- 
bered the  warning  against  haste  that  the  sheriff 


90      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

had  given  him,  and  he  waited  for  the  flashlight  to 
blaze  of  itself,  as  soon  as  the  wreckers  should 
actually  begin  work. 

A  short  laugh  rang  out  on  the  night  air,  and 
Gavan  heard  one  of  the  men  say,  in  Spanish, 

"The  young  fool  will  get  tired  after  a  while,  and 
quit." 

Then  Gavan  heard  the  rattle  of  a  shovel  on  the 
dry  earth  and,  a  moment  later,  the  brilliant  white 
calcium  light  of  the  flashlight  blazed  out,  showing 
two  men  actually  digging  with  shovels,  a  third 
standing  by  and  a  fourth  on  horseback  surveying 
the  scene. 

The  light  flared  out  as  quickly  as  it  had  sprung 
up  and  the  resultant  darkness  seemed  more  pro- 
found than  ever  to  dazzled  eyes.  Working  by 
feel,  Gavan  closed  the  shutter  of  the  camera,  un- 
screwed it  from  the  tripod  and  laid  it  down  in 
the  ditch  beside  him. 

He  had  hardly  done  this  when  a  shot  rang  out. 
The  Mexicans,  after  their  first  start  at  the  sudden 
light,  were  firing  blindly  in  every  direction. 
Gavan  flattened  himself  in  the  ditch,  not  greatly 
frightened,  for  he  knew  that  it  would  not  occur 
to  the  Mexicans  to  fire  directly  on  the  ground 
under  their  feet.  Presently,  however,  one  of  the 


DOWNING  A  GREASER  91 

men,  who  had  continued  his  work  of  filling  in  the 
ditch,  found  his  shovel  foul  of  the  long  piece  of 
string  which  Gavan  had  used  for  the  setting  off 
of  the  flashlight.  He  called  the  attention  of  the 
others  to  it,  and  the  man  on  horseback,  the  leader 
of  the  party,  suggested  that  this  string  should  be 
followed  up  to  find  where  it  led. 

A  score  of  steps  led  the  party  to  where  Gavan 
was  lying,  an  inconspicuous  figure  from  a  dis- 
tance, but  easily  discerned  by  any  one  looking 
directly  down  on  the  ground.  One  of  the  men 
struck  a  match,  and  in  the  flare  of  it,  Gavan  could 
be  distinctly  seen,  curled  up  at  the  bottom  of  the 
enlarged  depression  he  had  made  in  the  ditch. 

A  storm  of  curses  broke  out  at  the  sight  of 
him,  and  one  of  the  men,  advancing,  threatened 
him  with  his  six-shooter. 

' '  Get  up  and  out  o '  that ! "  he  said,  roughly. 

"No,"  answered  Gavan,  quietly,  from  the  dark- 
ness. "This  is  my  ditch,  and  I've  got  the  right 
to  stay  here.  'Hunch'  Capton  said  so." 

Just  as  the  mention  of  the  name  of  Thin-lip 
Jack  had  stopped  the  Mexicans  from  rough  treat- 
ment before,  so  did  the  sheriff' s  name,  this  time. 

"What  was  that  light?"  asked  the  leader. 

"I  wanted  to  see  who  you  were,"  the  boy  an- 


92      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

swered,  wisely  saying  nothing  about  the  camera. 

There  followed  a  long  discussion  in  undertones, 
in  Spanish,  the  details  of  which  Gavan  could  not 
hear,  but  he  gathered  the  purport  of  it  to  be  that 
even  if  the  boy  did  swear  that  he  had  seen  them, 
he  was  a  minor  and  his  testimony  could  be  of  little 
value.  And,  if  he  wanted  to  lie  out  there  at  night, 
well,  the  ditch  was  two  miles  long,  and  as  fast 
as  he  dug  one  part  of  it,  another  could  be  filled 
in.  The  owner  of  the  land,  Gavan  judged,  wanted 
to  give  the  lad  a  thrashing,  but  the  leader  inter- 
posed, saying  that  they  could  get  their  way  with- 
out violence,  and  that  to  beat  up  a  lad  who  had 
the  backing  of  the  sheriff  and  the  XO  ranch  at 
the  same  time,  wouldn't  be  healthy. 

"If  he's  got  the  sheriff  behind  him,"  said  the 
leader,  sensibly,  "we're  not  likely  to  get  the  better 
of  him  at  law,  and  the  XO  punchers  would  be  only 
too  glad  of  an  excuse  to  stir  up  trouble.  We 
know  that.  "We'll  play  the  long  game.  It's 
safest." 

Whereupon,  after  a  volley  of  threats,  to  which 
Gavan  paid  not  the  slightest  heed,  nor  even 
deigned  an  answer,  the  men  mounted  their  ponies 
and  rode  away. 

Next  day  Gavan  went  into  town  and  the  Forest 


DOWNING  A  GREASER  93 

Supervisor  developed  the  plate.  Thanks  to  the 
instructions  the  boy  had  received,  and  which  he 
had  followed  out  with  scrupulous  exactitude,  the 
negative  was  clear  and  sharp.  The  figures  of  the 
four  men  were  plainly  shown  and  three  of  them, 
at  least,  could  be  recognized.  The  fourth,  the 
leader,  who  had  been  on  horseback,  was  slightly 
out  of  focus,  but  his  horse  could  be  recognized, 
although  the  man  could  not. 

Two  days  later,  the  sheriff  rode  up  to  the  hold- 
ing of  Antonio  Moreno.  The  Mexican  came  out 
of  his  adobe  house  and  scowled  at  the  sheriff. 

"What  you  want?"  he  asked. 

"I've  a  pair  of  handcuffs  in  my  pocket,"  said 
the  sheriff,  sharply,  "an'  I  may  want  them  for 
you.  See  here,  you  crawlin'  snake,"  he  con- 
tinued, holding  out  a  photograph,  "here's  a  pic- 
ture of  you,  taken  the  other  night." 

Moreno  took  the  print  and  looked  at  it,  his 
features  working  spasmodically. 

"It's  a  lie!"  he  said. 

"Oh,  no,  it  isn't,"  answered  the  sheriff,  cheer- 
fully. "It  would  be  taken  as  evidence  in  any 
court  of  law,  especially  with  the  testimony  of 
Gavan  Keary  an'  the  others  who  were  there  as 
witnesses." 


94      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

" Others?"  There  was  a  note  of  fear  in  the 
Mexican's  voice. 

1  'Of  course.  Do  you  suppose  we'd  have  risked 
leavin'  a  boy  of  that  age  in  your  hands?" 

This  was  bluff,  pure  and  simple,  but  there  was 
no  way  for  Antonio  to  know  it.  He  saw  at  once 
that  if  there  were  other  witnesses,  and  if  the 
photograph  had  actually  been  taken  as  the  sheriff 
said  it  had,  it  would  be  of  no  use  for  him  to  deny 
that  he  had  taken  any  part  in  the  filling  up  of  the 
ditch. 

"Now  you  just  listen  to  me  for  about  one 
minute,"  continued  the  sheriff,  "an'  tell  your 
friends  what  I  say.  In  this  country  of  Taos  an' 
state  of  New  Mexico,  every  man,  white,  Mexican, 
or  Indian,  is  goin '  to  get  justice.  The  laws  o '  the 
United  States  aren't  a-goin'  to  be  twisted  because 
of  a  man's  color  or  his  lingo. 

"But  there's  one  thing  more  important  than  any 
man's  color  or  lingo,  an'  that's  the  community 
as  a  whole.  If  somethin'  comes  up  that's  a-goin' 
to  benefit  the  community  as  a  whole,  an'  any 
man  gets  in  the  way  o'  that,  well,  I'm  just  tellin' 
you  that  he'll  be  walkin'  on  cactus  with  bare  feet. 
I'm  listin'  that  ditch  o'  Gavan  Keary's  as  a  public 
improvement,  an',  since  it  runs  on  your  land,  I 


DOWNING  A  GREASER  95 

give  you  official  warnin'  that  if  it's  interfered 
with,  I'll  hold  you  personally  responsible  an' 
make  you  repair  any  damages  yourself. 

"No,  you  don't  need  to  do  any  talkin',"  he 
added,  as  he  saw  the  Mexican  was  about  to  inter- 
rupt, "what  I  say,  goes.  You  savvy?" 

The  shifty-eyed  Mexican  tried  to  answer  the 
sheriff,  glance  for  glance,  but  his  gaze  fell  under 
those  stern  gray  eyes. 

"I  won't  do  nothin'  against  it,"  he  muttered  at 
length. 

"Well,"  retorted  the  sheriff,  "if  any  one  else 
does,  you'll  be  blamed  for  it,  an'  what's  more, 
any  hostile  act  against  that  ditch  I  shall  take  as  a 
personal  insult." 

He  dropped  his  hand  so  that  it  rested  on  the 
butt  of  his  gun. 

"I  don't  often  overlook  personal  insults,"  he 
added,  meaningly,  and  the  Mexican  understood. 

The  ditch  was  never  interfered  with  after  that, 
and  Gavan,  slaving  under  the  hot  sun,  saw  that 
a  few  days  would  be  sufficient  to  finish  the  ditch 
as  far  as  his  own  land. 

Remembering  the  advice  of  the  ranch  boss,  he 
then  sought  out  Quick  Feather  and  explained  to 
the  old  Indian  his  need  of  a  team  and  plow  for 


96      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

cultivating  the  ground.  When  he  had  finished 
Quick  Feather  nodded. 

"Thin-lip  Jack  will  pay?"  he  queried. 

11  That's  what  he  said,"  the  boy  answered. 

"He  has  hard  tongue,  but  his  words  are 
straight,"  was  Quick  Feather's  only  comment. 

Next  morning,  an  Indian  was  at  work,  turning 
over  what  had  been  a  semi-desert  vegetation  of 
sage-brush,  rabbit-brush,  salt-brush,  Spanish  bay- 
onet, and  yucca,  with  some  scattered  bear-grass, 
exposing  a  dusty,  dry  soil  which  looked  incapable 
of  growing  anything.  But  Gavan  knew,  even  as 
the  Indians  knew,  that  it  is  only  necessary  to  let 
water  flow  occasionally  over  that  dusty  land  to 
produce  crops  that  are  worthy  of  comparison  with 
the  best  farming  lands  of  the  Middle  West. 

The  story  of  Gavan 's  fight  against  the  Mexicans 
for  the  putting  through  of  the  ditch  had  been 
thoroughly  discussed  at  Taos,  the  sheriff  having 
spread  the  story  of  the  flashlight  photograph, 
knowing  the  value  of  favorable  public  opinion, 
and  many  people  who  had  never  heard  of  Gavan 
Keary  before,  or  who,  at  all  events,  had  paid  no 
attention  to  Blue  Joe  Keary 's  young  cousin,  now 
went  out  of  their  way  to  help  the  lad.  The  super- 
visor of  the  Carson  National  Forest,  who  had  lent 


DOWNING  A  GREASER  97 

the  camera  and  the  flashlight  apparatus,  procured 
from  Washington  detailed  information  as  to  the 
best  hay  crops  that  could  be  grown  on  the  place 
and  arranged  matters  so  that  Gavan  could  buy 
a  higher-grade  seed  than  that  which  was  in 
common  use  in  the  valley. 

" There's  another  thing  you  ought  to  do,  too," 
the  Supervisor  told  him,  "and  that's  make  use 
of  all  that  foothill  country  back  of  the  flats. 
You've  got  a  hundred  acres  there  that  isn't  worth 
a  hundred  cents  to  you,  the  way  it  is." 

"Nothing  grows  there  but  pinon-pine,  juniper, 
live-oak,  silk-tassel,  and  prickly-pear, ' '  the  boy  an- 
swered. "I  couldn't  even  raise  goats  on  that!" 

"Why  doesn't  anything  else  grow  there?"  asked 
the  Supervisor. 

"Ground's  too  poor,  I  suppose,"  the  boy  an- 
swered. 

The  Supervisor  shook  his  head. 

"It's  the  same  soil  as  what  you're  plowing," 
he  replied. 

"Then  it  must  be  the  slope,"  said  Gavan. 
"Anyway,  I  couldn't  make  water  run  uphill." 

"No,"  agreed  the  Supervisor,  "you  couldn't, 
"but  rain  flows  downhill." 

"Sure,"  agreed  the  boy,  "but  when  it  rains 


98      WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

here  it  comes  so  hard  that  it  just  rushes  off  the 
foot-hills,  and,  half  an  hour  after  a  rainstorm,  the 
slopes  are  as  dry  as  they  were  before." 

"But  if  you  could  keep  it  from  running  off?" 
queried  the  Supervisor,  "what  then?" 

Gavan  thought  for  a  moment. 

"If  the  water  could  be  made  to  stick  on  the 
side  of  a  hill,"  he  said,  "why  I  suppose  grass 
would  grow.  But  I  don 't  see  how  to  make  water 
stick  on  the  side  of  a  hill!" 

"Yet  it's  easy  enough,"  the  Forest  Supervisor 
answered,  "once  you  see  the  way.  Suppose  we 
work  out  the  principle  of  it  first.  What  is  a 
river?" 

Gavan  thought  for  a  moment,  for  he  saw  that 
his  questioner  wanted  a  careful  answer. 

"A  river,"  he  said  at  last,  "is  water  flowing 
down  a  valley  from  the  mountains  to  the  sea." 

"And  where  does  that  water  come  from?" 

"Earn,  snow,  and  springs,"  the  boy  replied 
promptly. 

"And  what  makes  springs?" 

This  was  a  poser,  but  after  a  few  minutes, 
Gavan  hazarded, 

"Rain?" 

"Of  course,"  the  supervisor  agreed,  "though  it 


DOWNING  A  GREASER  99 

may  have  been  rain  that  has  fallen  long  before 
and  is  slowly  filtering  through  rock  or  soil.  A 
river,  then,  is  only  a  gully  to  hold  rain-water." 

"Yes,"  the  boy  agreed,  "I  guess  that's  so." 

* '  Very  good, ' '  said  the  Supervisor.  '  *  Now  sup- 
pose that  you  made  a  little  river-bed  along  the 
side  of  a  hill,  sloping  gradually  the  way  a  river 
bed  does,  the  rain-water  would  flow  the  same  way, 
wouldn't  it?" 

"Why,  yes,  I  suppose  it  would,"  the  boy  re- 
turned, looking  eagerly  at  the  Supervisor,  as  the 
plan  began  to  seep  into  his  head. 

"And  if  you  made  a  series  of  little  river  beds 
or  parallel  gullies,  say  every  ten  yards  up  the 
hill,  when  it  rains,  instead  of  all  the  water  rushing 
off  into  an  arroyo  or  sluicing  down  the  side  of  the 
hill,  it  would  strike  these  gullies  and  flow  slowly 
along  them.  That  way,  the  ground  would  stay 
moist  for  a  week  or  ten  days  after  a  heavy  rain, 
because  the  water  would  be  flowing  in  parallel 
lines  around  the  hill,  and  soaking  the  ground  all 
round  them. 

"Now,"  the  Supervisor  continued,  "if  you  had 
seeded  the  side  of  that  hill  with  some  tough, 
drought-resisting  grass,  there's  more  than  a 
chance  that  it  would  take  root,  and  every  tuft  of 


ioo    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

grass  that  got  a  hold  would  help  to  keep  the  soil 
together  and  prevent  erosion.  It  would  act  as  a 
natural  filter,  too,  and  hold  the  moisture.  At  first 
your  grass  would  only  grow  along  the  edges  of 
these  little  contour  gullies,  as  they  are  called,  for, 
in  order  to  get  the  best  results,  these  gullies 
must  closely  follow  the  contour  of  the  moutains, 
or,  in  other  words,  they  must  be  nearly  level." 

"But  how  can  I  find  that  out?"  asked  the  boy. 

"I've  got  an  extra  set  of  instruments  I'll  lend 
you, ' '  said  the  Supervisor, ' '  and  I  '11  teach  you  how 
to  use  them.  It'll  be  slow  work  for  you,  at  first, 
but  it'll  pay  in  the  long  run.  The  main  trouble 
with  this  country  around  the  Little  Rio  Grande 
and  the  Rio  Chiquito  isn't  that  there's  not  enough 
water,  nor  enough  rainfall,  but  that  the  water 
which  does  come  down  isn't  properly  conserved. 
That  two  hundred  acres  your  cousin  left  you,  prob- 
ably wasn't  worth  as  many  dollars,  the  way  it  was, 
but  if  you  can  turn  the  flats  into  cultivated  land, 
and  the  foothill  slopes  into  rich  pasture,  you  could 
make  it  worth  ten  times  as  much  in  three  years' 
time.  And,  what's  more  important,  even,  is  that 
every  piece  of  desert  land  put  under  cultivation  is 
a  gift  to  the  United  States.  You're  helping  to 
make  your  country  greater." 


DOWNING  A  GREASER          101 

"I'll  do  it,  sir!"  declared  Gavan,  his  eyes 
kindling  at  the  idea. 

1 '  There 's  one  thing  more  about  improving  your 
foothill  country,"  the  Supervisor  continued. 
"You  know  how,  in  a  rainstorm,  the  arroyos 
fill  up  and  become  torrents,  sucking  the  water  out 
from  smaller  arroyos  or  gullies  that  run  into  it 
every  few  yards  or  so!" 

"Yes,  sir,"  the  boy  agreed,  wondering  what  else 
was  coming. 

"Dam  those  arroyos  every  fifty  yards  or  so," 
the  Supervisor  answered,  "cutting  short  ditches 
from  your  dams.  Then  your  arroyos,  which  have 
been  your  greatest  robbers  of  water,  become 
natural  irrigation  channels. 

"It's  incredible,  my  boy,  when  you  come  to  think 
of  it,  how  little  intelligent  work  it  takes  to  make 
a  section  rich,  instead  of  poor.  Mother  Nature  is 
the  kindest  as  well  as  the  strongest  of  man's 
friends,  but  she  has  got  to  be  humored. 

"Study  the  world  you  live  in,  my  boy,  and  the 
more  you  learn  about  it,  the  more  you'll  find  how 
good  it  is  to  live  in.  Once  be  proud  of  yourself 
and  of  your  country,  and  you  '11  have  a  country  to 
be  proud  of,  and  the  country  will  be  proud  of 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE    COYOTE    DRIVE 

WITH  the  aid  of  his  three  "trustees,"  as  they 
liked  to  call  themselves,  and  with  the  friendship 
of  the  Forest  Supervisor,  Ga  van's  little  farm — 
for  it  was  no  longer  merely  a  ranch  holding — 
flourished. 

The  Mexicans  had  given  up  their  fight  on  the 
irrigation  ditch,  and  Gavan  had  been  sufficiently 
shrewd  to  gain  the  favor  of  his  former  enemy 
Moreno,  by  cutting  a  lateral  ditch  to  a  corner 
of  the  Mexican's  land  in  such  a  manner  that  it 
gave  the  latter  a  stream  of  water  over  an  uncul- 
tivated stretch  that  his  own  irrigation  system  did 
not  reach. 

The  contour  furrowing  of  the  hillsides  was 
beginning  to  show  results,  and,  next  year,  Gavan 
expected  there  would  be  a  good  growth  of  grass 
on  the  hillside.  His  alfalfa  crop  promised  well, 
and,  thanks  to  the  XO  ranch,  his  market  was  as- 
sured. 


THE  COYOTE  DRIVE  103 

All  this  was  most  satisfactory  and  Gavan  stuck 
to  his  work  with  grim  persistency.  Still,  farm- 
ing was  not  the  work  he  liked  best  to  do.  His 
heart  was  set  on  the  trap  line,  and  he  had 
promised  the  XO,  that,  in  return  for  the  privi- 
lege of  grazing  on  the  rich  uplands,  he  would  do 
his  best  to  keep  the  lower  part  of  the  ranch,  on 
which  his  land  bordered,  free  from  coyotes. 

In  this  work,  Quick  Feather  was  the  lad's  chief - 
est  help.  Like  all  Indians,  once  he  had  given  his 
trust,  Quick  Feather  gave  it  thoroughly.  Gavan 
had  been  anxious  to  tell  the  Indian  his  troubles 
about  the  ditch,  but  he  had  not  dared.  There  is 
danger  in  inflaming  the  Indians  and  the  Mexicans. 
So  Gavan  had  sought  the  sheriff's  aid,  rather  than 
that  of  Quick  Feather.  When  it  came  to  trap- 
ping, however,  that  was  another  story,  for  no 
one  that  the  boy  had  ever  met  seemed  to  know 
so  much  about  animals  and  their  ways  as  did  the 
Indian. 

Trapping  with  Quick  Feather  was  the  hardest 
kind  of  work,  for,  old  though  the  Indian  was,  he 
could  climb  up  the  rugged  slopes  of  the  Sangre 
de  Cristo  Mountains,  slither  down  into  canyons, 
and  set  a  pace  which  Gavan  found  hard  to  follow. 
The  boy  would  be  winded  and  breathing  heavily, 


io4    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

what  time  the  old  Indian  showed  not  the  slight- 
est sign  of  distress.  Not  only  that,  but  Quick 
Feather  demanded  of  the  boy  that  he  give  his 
whole  attention  to  the  trail,  and,  at  a  moment  when 
the  boy  was  gasping  for  breath  near  the  summit 
of  a  ridge,  having  spent  all  his  energy  merely 
in  keeping  up  with  Quick  Feather,  the  Indian 
would  question  him  about  the  signs  he  ought  to 
have  noticed  on  the  way  up.  The  detailed  knowl- 
edge that  he  expected  from  Gavan  seemed  almost 
incredible. 

Quick  Feather  was  utterly  contemptuous  of  the 
white  men  in  one  thing.  He  declared,  over  and 
over  again,  that ' '  the  men  with  hair  on  their  face ' ' 
would  never  take  the  trouble  to  do  a  thing 
thoroughly. 

"White  man  know  a  great  many  tricks,"  he  said 
to  Gavan  one  day;  "many  more  tricks  than  Indian, 
but  he  not  know  them  so  well.  Indian  know  only 
a  few,  but  he  know  them  well.  I  show  you  how 
to  trap." 

Now  Gavan  prided  himself  on  his  trapping,  as 
he  had  good  reason  to  do,  for,  compared  with 
other  trappers  in  the  neighborhood,  he  was  quite 
successful.  Secretly,  he  rather  doubted  whether 
there  was  anything  more  that  he  neede'd  to  know, 


THE  COYOTE  DRIVE  105 

but  the  old  Indian  soon  showed  him  his  mistake. 

One  day  he  was  talking  over-confidently 
about  a  coyote  trail  he  had  seen  when  the  Indian 
stopped  him  with  a  sharp,  sidewise  glance. 

"You  know  coyote  track?"  he  asked. 

1 1  Of  course, ' '  answered  Gravan,  a  little  hurt  that 
Quick  Feather  should  suppose  him  ignorant  of  so 
simple  a  thing. 

"You  know  dog  track?" 

"Sure!"  the  boy  declared. 

"How  different?" 

Gavan  looked  puzzled,  but  he  answered, 
promptly  enough. 

"It's  a  little  hard  to  explain,  Quick  Feather, 
though  I  can  tell  easy  enough  when  I  see  them 
together.  The  foot  of  a  coyote  is  narrower,  or, 
put  it  another  way,  the  heel  of  the  dog  is  rounder." 

"So  white  man  says,"  replied  the  Indian. 
"Not  true.  Many  dogs  have  feet  as  narrow  as 
coyote.  Collie  track  and  coyote  track  just  same." 

The  boy  protested  vehemently. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say,  Quick  Feather,"  he 
asked,  "that  you  think  the  trail  of  a  collie  and 
coyote  are  alike?" 

"No,"  the  Indian  answered,  "trail  different." 

"But  you  just  now  said  they  were  the  same." 


Western 


Coyote. 


m 


106 


THE  COYOTE  DRIVE  107 

"Track  the  same,"  corrected  the  Indian. 
" Trail  different." 

This  distinction  was  beyond  the  lad. 

"I  don't  follow  you,"  he  said.  "How  can  the 
trail  be  different  if  the  track  is  the  same?" 

The  Indian  smiled,  a  slow,  grave  smile. 

"There  white  man  make  mistake,"  he  answered. 
"Quick  Feather  no  mistake.  White  man  look  at 
track.  Indian  look  at  trail." 

"But  how  can  you  follow  a  trail  except  by  the 
track!" 

"Poor  trapper,"  came  the  reply,  "see  only 
where  animal  walks.  That  is  nothing.  Good 
trapper  tell  what  animal  thinks.  That  is  some- 
thing. If  you  want  to  be  good  trapper,  Gavan, 
think  same  as  animal." 

"How,  Quick  Feather?"  queried  the  boy. 

"I  show  you,"  the  Indian  replied. 

In  response  to  a  gesture,  the  boy  reached  for  his 
hat  and  followed  the  old  Indian  toward  the  foot- 
hills. After  an  hour's  walk  they  reached  a  place 
all  worked  over  by  the  burrows  of  pocket  or 
pouched  gophers,  and  there,  in  the  dust,  could  be 
seen  the  faint  tracks  of  some  animal  of  the  canine 
family,  dog  or  wolf. 

"Coyote  or  dog?"  queried  the  Indian. 


io8     WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

Eealizing  that  this  question  was  put  to  him  as 
a  test,  Gavan  bent  down  and  examined  the  track 
carefully.  The  general  impression  he  gained  was 
that  the  print  was  from  a  coyote's  feet,  but  he 
was  by  no  means  sure.  As  the  spot  was  near  a 
trail  that  led  to  the  hot  springs  not  far  away, 
where  the  Mexican  women  often  went  to  do  their 
washing,  Gavan  thought  that  there  was  a  stronger 
probability  that  the  tracks  were  those  of  a  dog. 
Besides,  he  reasoned,  there  would  be  less  danger 
of  his  seeming  to  show  off  if  he  told  the  Indian 
that  the  prints  were  those  of  a  domestic  rather 
than  a  wild  animal. 

"I  think  it's  a  dog,"  he  said,  at  last. 

Quick  Feather  gave  no  sign,  either  of  approval 
or  disapproval.  He  led  the  way  over  the  sage- 
brush for  a  short  distance,  and  then  asked  again, 

"Dog  or  coyote!" 

This  repeated  question  convinced  Gavan  that  he 
had  guessed  wrong  the  first  time,  but  not  seeing 
a  definite  reason  for  changing  his  mind  and  know- 
ing that  if  he  said  "coyote,"  Quick  Feather  would 
be  sure  to  ask  him  exactly  why  he  now  thought 
differently,  he  decided  to  stick  to  his  first  state- 
ment, and  replied, 


THE  COYOTE  DRIVE  109 

"It  looks  like  a  dog  to  me." 

"Coyote!"  declared  the  Indian,  authoritatively. 

"Why?"  asked  the  boy.    "How  can  you  tell?" 

"You  look  at  track,"  the  Indian  repeated.  "I 
look  at  trail.  I  show  you." 

He  turned  back  on  the  trail  a  little  distance. 

"See,"  he  said,  "tracks  go  in  straight  line  for 
old  juniper.  Little  way  before,  swerve  out. 
Animal  comes  back  and  smells.  Not  dog." 

' '  Why  not  f ' '  persisted  Gavan,  who  was  anxious 
to  find  out  the  old  man's  reasoning.  "A  dog  will 
smell  everything  he  comes  across,  just  like  a  wolf 
or  a  coyote." 

"Dog  will  smell,"  the  Indian  agreed,  "but  he 
won't  circle  round  stump.  Dog  not  afraid. 
Coyote  always  afraid.  If  dog,  trail  would  be 
straight. 

"You  must  learn  to  think  same  as  animal. 
When  coyote  goes  fast,  he  know  why;  when  coyote 
goes  slow,  he  know  why.  When  coyote  jump  to 
one  side,  perhaps  something  frighten  him,  perhaps 
he  try  to  catch  something.  Coyote,  when  very 
hungry,  very  scared.  Coyote  always  hungry." 

"So  I've  heard,"  the  boy  assented.  "I  was 
told  once,  in  the  pueblo,  that  when  the  Good  Spirit 


no    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

gave  life  to  all  the  animals,  he  put  them  under  the 
fear  of  hunger,  to  keep  them  from  getting  too 
proud." 

"That  true,"  said  the  Indian,  "but  coyote 
hungriest  of  all  animals." 

"Why  is  that?"  asked  Gavan. 

"When  Good  Spirit  made  animals,"  Quick 
Feather  replied,  "he  gave  each  one  choice  of 
animal  it  wanted  for  food. 

"Said  Coyote: 

"  'I  want  Mountain  Sheep!* 

"Said  the  Good  Spirit: 

(t  ll  have  given  Mountain  Sheep  strong  horns.' 

"Said  Coyote,  again: 

"  'I  choose  Mountain  Sheep!' 

"Said  Good  Spirit: 

"  'Well.  Coyote  shall  have  Mountain  Sheep 
for  food,  if  can  catch  him.' 

"So  Coyote  ran  off  to  Mountain  Sheep  and 
snapped  his  sharp  white  teeth.  Mountain  Sheep 
whirled  round  quickly  and  caught  Coyote  on  big 
curled  horns.  Coyote  ran  away,  howling.  That 
is  why  Coyote  has  no  regular  food,  but  eats  any- 
thing can  find. 

"But,  just  same,  Coyote  still  impudent. 


Courtesy  of  "  Shield's  Magazine." 

"YAP!  YAP!  YAP!     YOW-EK-OW-OW!" 

The  howl  of  the  coyotes  is  melancholy  mad  and  nerve-racking.     Two 

or  three  animals  can  emit  such  a  terrific  wailing  that  the  noise 

sounds  as  though  a  hundred  or  more  were  in  the  concert. 


Courtesy  of  "  Forest  and  Xtr«im." 

THE    VAGABOND    OUTCAST    IN   GRAY. 

Though  over  100,000  coyotes  are  killed  annually  in  the  United  States, 
their  numbers  are  not  sensibly  decreasing. 


THE  COYOTE  DRIVE  in 

"One  day,  Star  came  close  to  earth.  Coyote 
saw  her. 

"Said  Coyote: 

"  'Star,  come  down  and  dance.' 

"Said  Star: 

"  'No.     Come  up  here  and  will  dance.' 

"So  Coyote  ran  along  moonbeam  to  sky  where 
Star  was  waiting,  and  began  dance.  Danced  so 
long  that  Moon  went  home.  No  way  for  Coyote 
go  back  to  earth.  So  Coyote  dropped.  Drop 
long  way  and  hurt  great  deal,  and  Coyote  afraid 
everything  ever  since. 

"Now,  on  starlight  night,  Coyote  howls  for 
Star ;  moonlight  night,  Coyote  howls  because  he  is 
too  much  ccward  to  run  along  moonbeam  to  dance 
with  lost  comrade." 

"Yet,"  the  boy  returned,  "for  all  that  he's  a 
coward,  the  coyote  is  no  fool.  He  may  not  have 
any  regular  prey,  and  he  always  looks  more  than 
half  starved,  but,  for  all  that  he  gets  plenty  to 
eat." 

"Coyote  eat  everything,"  the  Indian  answered. 
"Coyote  kill  anything  small  for  him  to  kill,  eat 
anything  he  find  dead.  Coyote  no  fool,  Coyote 
clever,  he  can  catch  Jack-Rabbit." 


ii2    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

"I  know  he  can,"  the  boy  agreed,  "but  I've 
often  wondered  how.  I  should  think  a  jack-rabbit 
could  outrun  a  coyote  just  as  easy  as  easy." 

"Jack-Rabbit  can  run,"  assented  the  Indian, 
"but  Coyote  never  hunt  Jack-Rabbit  alone. 
Coyote  find  partner.  Then  Coyote  start  running 
after  Jack-Rabbit  much  fast.  Jack-Rabbit  start 
running  very  much  fast.  Jack-Rabbit  not  clever, 
run  in  circle. 

"All  the  time  Jack-Rabbit  run,  Coyote's  Mate 
sit  on  little  hill,  watching.  When  Jack-Rabbit 
makes  circle,  Coyote's  Mate  run  across  to  cut  off 
path  of  Jack-Rabbit.  When  Jack-Rabbit  come 
near,  Coyote 's  Mate  begin  to  run.  When  Coyote 's 
Mate  run,  Coyote  sit  down  to  rest.  So  Coyote 
and  Coyote's  Mate  tire  out  Jack-Rabbit  and  get 
dinner. ' ' 

"It's  a  slick  piece  of  team-work,"  remarked  the 
boy,  "and  I've  seen  the  same  sort  of  thing  in  a 
prairie-dog  village.  I  was  sitting  quietly  by  one 
of  the  underground  towns,  one  day,  watching  the 
fat  little  fellows  pop  in  and  out  of  their  holes, 
when  suddenly  a  Coyote  came  dashing  through  the 
village  at  top  speed. 

"Quick  as  a  wink,  every  prairie  dog  made  a 
bolt  for  his  burrow  and  the  coyote  ran  all  the 


THE  COYOTE  DRIVE  113 

way  through  with  never  so  much  as  a  chance  to 
snap. 

"  'Ah,  ha,  Mr.  Coyote,'  I  said  to  myself,  'here  is 
where  you  get  left.' 

"  Evidently  the  prairie  dogs  thought  the  same 
thing,  for  no  sooner  had  the  coyote  scurried 
through,  than  they  bobbed  out  of  their  holes  and 
barked  sarcastic  comments  to  each  other  about  the 
fool  coyote.  Then,  like  the  shadow  of  a  cloud  over 
the  grass,  came  the  coyote's  mate,  and  with  half 
a  dozen  quick  snaps  she  killed  as  many  prairie 
dogs. 

''Then,  grinning  with  all  his  teeth,  back 
sauntered  the  coyote  who  had  made  the  first  dash 
through  the  village  and  shared  the  meal  with  his 
mate.  I  would  have  saved  the  little  chaps  if  I 
could,  and  driven  the  coyotes  away,  but  since  the 
little  prairie  dogs  were  dead,  it  wasn't  much  use." 

"Coyote  very  clever,"  said  Quick  Feather. 
"Apache  will  not  kill  Coyote.  Apache  believe 
that  when  Indian  die  he  become  Coyote  and 
when  Coyote  die  he  become  Indian  again." 

"You  don't  believe  that,  Quick  Feather,  do 
you!"  asked  the  boy,  incredulously. 

"Quick  Feather  a  Tigua,"  declared  the 
Indian,  with  dignity,  "not  thieving  Apache." 


1 14    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

And  Gavan,  remembering  the  age-long  feud  be- 
tween the  Apaches  and  the  Pueblo  Indians,  under- 
stood the  prideful  answer. 

Meanwhile,  throughout  this  conversation,  Quick 
Feather  had  been  walking  at  a  swift  pace.  Sud- 
denly he  stopped,  and  turning  to  the  boy,  he 
said, 

"You  see,  Coyote!" 

There  was  no  further  doubt.  The  carcass  of  an 
animal  several  days  dead  had  been  freshly  chewed 
and  near  the  carcass  were  to  be  seen  the  character- 
istic tracks. 

"Yes,"  agreed  the  boy,  "that's  a  coyote,  right 
enough.  None  of  the  dogs  'round  here  would 
want  to  tackle  anything  as  smelly  as  that.  Only 
a  coyote  or  a  turkey-buzzard  would  be  guilty." 

He  backed  away,  holding  his  nose  tightly. 

"To-morrow,"  said  the  Indian,  "you  set  trap 
here.  Maybe  you  catch  Coyote.  Not  catch  him 
at  once,  by  and  by,  three,  four  days.  If  Coyote 
kill  something  himself,  he  eat  that.  If  Coyote 
get  very  hungry  he  come  back,  eat  this.  Coyote 
not  forget  where  meat." 

"I've  got  to  settle  down  and  put  out  a  lot  more 
coyote  traps,"  remarked  the  boy.  "I  heard  the 
other  day  from  the  XO  ranch  that  the  coyotes 


THE  COYOTE  DRIVE  115 

were  getting  thick.  IVe  kept  up  my  trap  line  all 
right,  but  even  with  twenty  traps  out,  I  haven't 
been  catching  more  than  two  or  three  a  week. 
Of  course,  I've  been  pretty  busy  getting  my  traps 
in  shape." 

"I  help  you,"  said  the  Indian,  "we  go  to-mor- 
row. ' ' 

The  following  morning,  accordingly,  Quick 
Feather  appeared  with  a  couple  of  jack-rabbits 
that  had  evidently  been  caught  in  wire  snares,  and 
asked  the  lad  to  bring  out  any  spare  traps  he 
might  have.  Gavan  had  but  two  that  he  had  not 
set  out,  and  the  Indian  smelt  these. 

"No  good,"  he  declared.  "Smell  iron  and 
smell  Man.  Put  in  sage-brush  soup."  • 

"What's  that,  Quick  Feather!"  the  boy  asked. 

"I  show  you.     Cut  plenty  sage-brush." 

Utterly  at  a  loss  to  imagine  what  the  Indian 
might  be  intending  to  do,  Gavan  hurried  out  and 
came  back  in  a  few  minutes  with  a  huge  armful 
of  sage-brush.  In  the  meantime  the  old  man  had 
lighted  a  big  fire  out-of-doors,  put  an  iron  pot 
on  it,  and  started  the  water  to  boil.  Into  the  boil- 
ing water  he  put  the  traps  and  then  crammed  the 
pot  full  of  sage-brush. 

"What's  that  for?"  asked  the  boy. 


n6    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

"Coyote  clever,"  the  Indian  returned.  "Trap 
stay  in  house,  smell  house.  You  set  trap  on 
ground,  Coyote  smell  house.  Coyote  look  'round, 
see  no  house.  Coyote  afraid,  go  away.  No  catch 
Coyote." 

"But  why  sage-brush!"  queried  the  boy. 
"Just  because  of  its  strong  smell?" 

The  Indian  shook  his  head. 

"If  trap  smell  sage-brush,"  he  said,  "set  under 
sage-brush.  If  trap  under  pines,  rub  with  pine- 
gum.  If  trap  near  grass,  no  smell  at  all." 

The  reasoning  of  this  was  clear,  and  Gavan 
stored  away  the  information.  Then,  the  traps 
duly  freed  from  the  house  smell,  according  to 
Quick  Feather's  idea,  some  of  the  "soup"  was 
put  in  a  bottle  and  the  two  started  out. 

Presently  the  Indian  pulled  up  his  pony. 

"Coyote  scratch!"  he  exclaimed. 

Gavan  peered  at  the  ground.  Though  trained 
to  trapping  as  he  had  been  by  his  association 
with  Blue  Joe,  the  boy  would  have  ridden  by  with- 
out noticing  anything  unusual,  but  the  keen  eyes 
of  the  Indian  had  seen  some  faint  marks  on  the 
dry  ground. 

"Coyote  stop  here,"  he  said.  "Coyote  much 
like  Dog.  When  Coyote  comes  where  another 


THE  COYOTE  DRIVE  117 

Coyote  has  stopped,  he  smells,  like  Dog.  After 
has  left  smell  here,  runs  on. 

"In  towns,"  continued  Quick  Feather,  " houses 
have  telephones.1  Can  talk  long  way." 

"Yes,"  put  in  Gavan,  wondering  what  this  had 
to  do  with  trapping. 

"Wolves  and  Coyote  have  smell  telephone,"  ex- 
plained the  Indian.  "Plenty  places,  low  bush  or 
tuft  of  grass  all  by  itself,  where  Wolf  or  Coyote 
will  'register.'  Every  Coyote  his  own  smell,  like 
every  man  his  own  name.  Coyote  can  tell  whether 
Coyote  there  before  him  was  Friend  Coyote  or 
Enemy  Coyote,  Man  Coyote  or  Woman  Coyote, 
Old  Coyote  or  Young  Coyote,  Full  Coyote  or 
Hungry  Coyote.  Can  tell  whether  to  follow,  or 
stay  away.  To  catch  Coyote,  find  these  'register' 
places,  then  sure  to  trap  Coyote  near  by." 

Quick  Feather  dismounted  from  his  pony. 

"Now,"  he  said,  "we  set  trap.  Two  ways. 
One,  set  trap  with  no  meat,  near  bush  with  smell, 
Coyote  may  walk  in  trap.  Other  way,  set  trap 
twenty  paces  away  from  smell  place  and  put  meat. 
Coyote  comes  near  smell  place,  knows  where  it  is, 
but  not  run  right  to  it.  Coyote  never  run  straight 

i  The  Pueblo  Indians  understand  modern  conveniences,  and 
the  younger  men  speak  good  English.  The  older  Indians  are 
conservative  and  keep  to  the  ancient  ways. 


n8     WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

to  anything,  too  much  afraid.  Always  make  circle 
around  it  to  get  all  smells.  If  smell  right,  Coyote 
come  closer. 

"So,  Coyote  circle  round  little  bush  or  tuft 
of  grass  where  smell  is,  smell  meat.  Coyote 
hungry  in  morning,  Coyote  hungry  sun-high, 
Coyote  hungry  in  the  night.  Coyote  run  around 
meat,  closer  and  closer,  by  and  by  get  him. 

"Second  way,  best.  Not  spoil  smell-place.  If 
meat  too  near  smell-place,  bad  trapping.  Coyote 
knows  no  other  Coyote  would  bring  meat  there  to 
eat.  That  would  spoil  smell  telephone.  Must 
learn  to  think  same  as  animal,"  he  concluded. 

Whereupon  Quick  Feather,  dragging  after  him 
one  of  the  dead  jack-rabbits,  advanced  on  a 
straight  line  to  the  place  where  he  purposed  to  set 
the  trap,  putting  one  foot  before  the  other  exactly 
so  as  to  make  a  narrow  trail.  Then,  wetting  his 
hands  thoroughly  with  the  "sage-brush  soup" 
from  the  little  bottle  he  had  carried,  he  dug  into 
the  soft  ground  with  a  stick  he  picked  up  from 
near  by,  making  a  shallow  hole  just  the  size  of  the 
trap.  In  this  hole  he  put  the  trap,  covered  the 
pan  with  green  leaves  and  covered  the  leaves  with 
a  thin  layer  of  earth.  Then  he  dug  a  narrow 
ditch  in  a  curved  line  to  hide  the  chain  of  the  trap 


THE  COYOTE  DRIVE  119 

and  fastened  this  to  a  bush.  After  which  he  cut 
part  of  the  jack-rabbit  into  small  bits  and  scat- 
tered the  pieces  around  the  trap  in  such  a  way  that 
the  animal  could  not  help  putting  his  foot  into 
the  trap  if  he  tried  to  snap  up  all  the  pieces. 

" Catch  Coyote  by  and  by,"  said  Quick  Feather, 
when  he  had  finished.  Then,  stepping  backwards 
over  his  trail,  he  took  the  other  jack-rabbit,  which 
he  had  been  using  as  a  drag,  and  pulled  it  gently 
over  the  place  where  he  had  been  standing,  and  so, 
the  dead  animal  dragging  behind  him,  he  returned 
to  his  pony. 

"No  smell  man,"  he  said. 

Gavan  had  watched  the  Indian's  set  with  a  great 
deal  of  interest,  being  especially  struck  with  the 
care  with  which  the  Indian  kept  away  all  evidence 
of  human  smell,  but  his  trapper's  instinct  was  a 
long  way  from  being  satisfied. 

' '  That 's  all  right  so  far  as  the  Coyote  not  smell- 
ing you  is  concerned,"  he  objected,  "but  you've 
left  all  sorts  of  things  that  ought  to  make  a  coyote 
suspicious.  A  coyote  can  tell  the  smell  of  a  dead 
jack-rabbit  from  the  smell  of  a  live  one,  he  can 
tell  that  a  jack-rabbit,  after  he  is  dead,  doesn't 
drag  himself  over  the  ground,  and  he  knows  that 
a  jack-rabbit  doesn't  cut  himself  up  in  pieces." 


120    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

The  Indian  smiled,  though  evidently  pleased  at 
the  lad's  trying  to  reason  like  an  animal. 

'  *  Coyote  not  Gray  Wolf, ' '  he  corrected.  « *  Wolf 
much  more  hard  to  catch.  If  Coyote  not  smell 
Man,  Coyote  let  his  belly  fool  his  head.  This  trap 
catch  Coyote  by  and  by. ' ' 

Several  days  passed  after  the  setting  of  the 
trap,  and  Gavan  watched  it  every  other  day,  as  he 
did  along  the  whole  length  of  his  trap  line,  but  it 
was  not  until  a  week  later  that  a  coyote  was 
caught.  Even  then,  it  was  a  young  one,  as  yet  un- 
taught in  the  wiles  of  traps.  Quick  Feather's 
set  had  not  been  notably  more  successful  than  the 
boy's  own. 

Rather  to  his  chagrin,  the  boy  was  compelled  to 
admit  to  himself  a  lack  of  sufficient  result  in  his 
coyote  trapping,  and  a  somewhat  harsh  remark 
from  the  ranch  boss  rankled  in  his  mind. 

"You  don't  need  to  forget  to  trap,  jest  because 
you're  raisin'  a  little  hay!"  Thin-lip  Jack  had 
said. 

Gavan  had  redoubled  his  efforts  and  put  out 
on  his  line  every  trap  he  owned,  or  could  borrow, 
but  the  coyotes  were  beginning  to  get  shy.  They 
had  seen  others  caught  and  were  growing  wary. 
The  boy's  system  of  trapping,  as  taught  him  by 


Copyright  by  Alexander  Lambert,  M.D. 

BONEY  MOORE  HOLDING  UP  LIVE  COYOTE. 
(Photograph  from  the  Roosevelt  hunt.) 


THE  COYOTE  DRIVE  121 

Blue  Joe  and  Quick  Feather,  while  excellent  for 
catching  coyotes  when  they  were  in  profusion  and 
unwary,  failed  him  sorely  as  soon  as  the  sly  little 
animals  grew  suspicious  and  learned  cunning. 

"Looks  like  I'd  better  tell  you  how  we  used  to 
catch  coyotes  in  Texas,"  said  Thin-lip  Jack,  a 
week  later,  when  the  traps  again  were  found  empty 
and  unsprung.  "We  used  to  run  'em  down." 

"On  cow-ponies?"  asked  Gavan. 

"On  cow  ponies  an'  with  dogs,"  the  ranchman 
answered.  "On  the  Double  Bar  P.  ranch,  there 
was  an  Englishman,  part  owner,  who  owned  a 
couple  of  greyhounds.  Most  o'  the  rest  of  us  had 
mongrels  o '  one  kind  or  another.  We  didn  't  know 
anything  about  Airedales  in  those  days.  After 
the  roundup,  when  'the  work  was  slack  on  the 
place,  we'd  fix  up  the  lay-out  for  a  coyote  hunt. 

' '  Maybe  half-a-dozen  o '  the  boys  would  pick  out 
the  liveliest  broncs  o'  their  string  an'  we'd  light 
out,  takin'  the  dcgs  in  a  wagon,  behind.  By-'n'- 
by  some  one  would  spot  a  coyote,  an'  the  dogs 
would  be  let  slip. 

"The  coyote  would  head  for  the  horizon,  his 
tail  between  his  legs,  with  that  slinkin'  way  o'  his, 
which  looks  like  he  wasn't  movin'  at  -all,  but  the 
mongrels  would  be  left  behind  from  the  very  first 


122    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

jump.  Not  the  greyhounds,  though,  they'd  just 
skim  along  over  the  ground,  like  a  prairie  fire 
gettin'  a  good  hold. 

"Mr.  Coyote,  he'd  sort  o'  look  back  over  his 
shoulder,  surprised  like  that  anything  should  have 
the  nerve  to  chase  him,  an'  he'd  see  those  grey- 
hounds comin'  along  like  a  stampede,  so  he'd  let 
out  another  link  or  two  o'  speed.  But  that  wasn't 
no  manner  o'  use,  the  greyhounds  could  catch 
anything  that  runs  on  four  legs.  The  coyote, 
he  'd  pound  the  dust  for  all  he  knew  how,  but,  just 
the  same,  the  greyhounds  would  slide  up  to  him, 
one  on  each  side. 

"Then,  like  a  flash,  both  would  dive  for  him  at 
the  same  minute,  nip  him  by  the  neck  an'  give  him 
a  quick  toss  in  the  air.  It  didn't  hurt  the  coyote 
none,  leastways,  not  much,  but  it  sure  stopped  his 
advance  a  whole  lot.  A  greyhound's  strength  is 
in  his  legs,  not  in  his  jaw.  The  minute  the  coyote 
started  to  run  again,  the  two  greyhounds  would 
nip  him,  an'  up  and  over  he'd  go  like  an  acrobat. 
It  wasn't  any  use  for  the  coyote  to  turn  an'  fight, 
for  two  reasons,  one  that  a  coyote  wouldn't  fight 
anyway,  an'  the  other,  that  if  he  stopped  to  fight, 
the  pack  of  hounds  and  mongrels  would  come  up 
all  the  quicker. 


THE  COYOTE  DRIVE  123 

* '  But,  when  he  'd  been  tossed  a  dozen  times  or  so, 
the  other  dogs,  an'  us,  on  our  cow-ponies,  were 
beginnin'  to  range  up  pretty  close,  an'  when  the 
dogs  got  him,  that  was  the  end  o'  Mr.  Coyote. 

"Once  in  a  while  we'd  vary  the  game  by  goin' 
out  with  the  greyhounds  only,  an'  gettin'  the 
coyote  by  ropin',  draggin'  the  varmint  back  to 
camp  at  the  end  of  a  lariat.  It  was  good  sport, 
but  it  didn't  reduce  the  coyote  population  nothin' 
extraordinary.  A  fellow  couldn't  get  more  than 
three  a  day  at  the  most.  The  dogs  would  be  wore 
out." 

"I  wish  we  could  do  something  like  that  here," 
said  Gavan  wistfully,  "couldn't  my  Airedales 
help?" 

"Sure,"  agreed  the  ranch  boss,  "they'd  turn  a 
coyote  into  a  ham  sandwich  once  they  got  him. 
But  they  wouldn't  ever  get.  It  takes  a  greyhound 
to  catch  a  coyote." 

"Couldn't  we  get  greyhounds'?" 

"They  wouldn't  be  no  manner  o'  use  in  this 
country,"  the  ranchman  answered.  "A  grey- 
hound runs  by  sight,  not  by  scent,  an'  when  he 
can't  see  the  game,  he  quits.  In  these  foothills 
an'  canyons,  a  coyote  could  twist  aroun'  an'  lose 
himself  before  the  dogs  had  fairly  got  started. 


i24    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

No,  Gavan,  that  deal  only  goes  in  prairie 
country/* 

1  'Why  not  have  a  coyote  drive  instead  of  a 
coyote  hunt,  then?"  the  boy  suggested. 

1 ' That's  a  new  one  on  me.  What's  a  coyote 
drive?" 

"It's  a  sort  of  a  general  neighborhood  round- 
up," answered  the  boy;  "I've  read  about  them  in 
government  bulletins.  I  know  there  have  been 
coyote  drives  in  several  of  the  western  States, 
Kansas,  Colorado,  Idaho,  Oklahoma,  and  Texas. 
I  never  heard  of  any  in  New  Mexico,  but  why 
shouldn't  there  be?" 

"Go  on,  kid,"  declared  the  ranch  boss,  "I'm 
plumb  interested.  What's  the  lay-out?" 

"So  far  as  I  can  make  out,"  Gavan  replied,  "it's 
simple  enough.  You  get  together  as  many  fellows 
on  ponies  as  you  can,  and  station  them  about  100 
yards  apart,  more  or  less,  according  to  the  ground. 
Sixty  riders,  that  way,  would  make  a  front  of 
about  three  miles,  wouldn't  it?" 

"Just  about." 

"Now,  a  line  three  miles  long  would  reach  right 
across  any  of  these  valleys  and  up  to  the  top  of  the 
foothills.  That  bunch  is  to  drive  the  coyotes. 

"Out  on  the  plain,  where  the  creek  runs  into  the 


THE  COYOTE  DRIVE  125 

flat,  we  could  get  all  the  Mexicans  and  people  from 
the  villages  to  make  a  good-sized  semicircle,  clear 
from  one  side  of  the  foothills  across  the  river  and 
the  valley  and  to  the  foothills  on  the  other  side." 

"I  see,"  broke  in  the  ranch  boss,  "and  have 
that  bunch  well  heeled  with  guns. ' ' 

Gavan  shook  his  head. 

"In  the  'drive'  I  read  about  in  the  Pasture 
Reserve  in  Oklahoma,"  he  replied,  "guns  weren't 
allowed,  for  fear  that  there  might  be  accidents. 
You  take  several  hundred  people  with  guns  shoot- 
ing in  a  half  circle,  some  one's  apt  to  get  hit.  It 
isn't  every  one  that  can  shoot  like  you,"  he  added. 

The  ranch  boss  looked  up  with  an  air  of  gratifi- 
cation. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "I  was  just  about  born  with  a 
six-shooter  in  my  hand.  I'd  be  a  dummy  if  I 
couldn't  shoot  a  little.  But  what  does  the  crowd 
handle  if  there  ain  't  no  guns  ? ' ' 

"Clubs,  mainly,"  the  boy  answered.  "Some 
of  the  cowboys  carried  lariats  and  roped  the 
coyotes,  and  nearly  a  hundred  dogs  of  all  sorts, 
sizes  and  descriptions  were  there." 

"I  savvy,"  said  the  ranch  boss.  "You  mean, 
for  example,  we  ought  to  clear  out  the  whole  valley 
of  the  Little  Rio  Grande  by  chasing  the  coyotes 


iz6    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

down  in  front  of  the  boys.  Then,  when  they 
reached  the  valley,  all  the  Mexicans  from  the  little 
villages  around  an'  maybe  some  of  the  Indians 
from  the  pueblo,  too,  would  be  ready  to  pound  the 
life  out  of  the  coyotes,  while  every  dog  for  miles 
around  would  be  havin'  the  time  of  his  young 
life." 

" That's  the  idea,  exactly,"  agreed  Gavan. 

"Well,"  said  the  ranch  boss,  "Labor  Day  comes 
near  the  end  of  next  week,  an'  we  generally  sort 
o'  make  a  holiday  out  of  it.  Why  couldn't  we 
turn  it  into  a  sort  o'  general  sport?  A  good  share 
o'  folk  would  come  in  because  of  the  sport  end 
of  it,  and  a  whole  lot  more  because  o'  the  gain  in 
gettin'  rid  of  the  coyotes.  It's  a  good  scheme, 
Gavan.  The  cattle  men  will  join  in,  sure,  if  the 
Mexican  crowd  will  do  the  business  in  the  flat." 

"I'm  pretty  sure  they  will,"  rejoined  Gavan, 
"if  there's  any  chance  of  killing  anything,  the 
Mexicans  will  want  to  be  in  on  it.  But,  if  you  like, 
Jack,  I'll  talk  the  plan  over  with  the  Forest  Su- 
pervisor. If  he  agrees  and  if  Hunch  backs  it  up, 
every  one  else  will  follow  along,  that's  sure." 

As  it  chanced,  the  Forest  Supervisor  not  only 
showed  himself  enthusiastic  over  the  plan,  but  said 
he  would  write  to  the  Chief  of  the  Biological  Sur- 


THE  COYOTE  DRIVE  127 

vey  for  the  State  of  New  Mexico.  The  latter  had 
actually  been  present  at  the  drive  in  Oklahoma  in 
1904  and  would  be  able  to  give  a  lot  of  information 
about  it.  By  publication  in  the  local  Spanish 
paper,  the  news  spread  quickly  through  Taos,  Ran- 
chos,  Comero  and  the  adjacent  villages,  including 
the  Indian  pueblo.  When  the  morning  of  the  ap- 
pointed day.  arrived,  the  whole  district  was  keen 
with  anticipation.  The  Biological  Survey  expert 
had  driven  up  from  Embudo  the  night  before  and 
went  over  the  final  arrangements. 

Gavan,  to  his  great  delight,  had  been  appointed 
as  one  of  the  drivers.  He  had  a  good  pony,  he  was 
of  light  weight,  and  he  knew  the  canyon  and  the 
upper  reaches  of  the  Little  Rio  Grande  thoroughly. 
Besides,  since  the  boy  had  suggested  the  affair,  the 
ranch  boss  thought  the  founder  of  the  idea  ought 
to  have  a  chance  of  choosing  his  part  in  it.  The 
drive  proper  had  been  put  in  charge  of  the  ranch 
boss,  and  he  was  not  the  sort  of  man  whose  rulings 
were  disputed. 

The  cowboys  who  were  to  take  part  in  the  drive 
gathered  at  the  Biological  Survey  grizzly  hunters ' 
camp  near  the  head  of  the  Little  Rio  Grande. 
Several  had  ridden  over  the  night  before  and  piled 
into  the  three  small  tents  in  the  camp.  Others 


i28    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

had  started  from  their  distant  ranches  before 
daylight.  Before  six  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
Gavan,  with  half  a  dozen  men  from  the  XO,  rode 
to  the  very  headwaters  of  the  creek  and  started 
down  the  canyon,  with  shouts  and  pistol  shots. 
By  ten  o'clock,  they  had  reached  the  point  of  the 
camp,  where,  by  this  time,  fifty  or  sixty  other 
riders  had  gathered. 

The  cavalcade  swept  down  the  narrow  valley, 
which  at  points  narrowed  to  a  canyon,  and  again 
widened  out  into  park-like  meadows.  Swept  is 
hardly  the  word,  for  rarely  was  it  possible  for  the 
riders  to  do  more  than  break  into  a  jogging  trot. 
Looses  stones,  rocky  piles  and  fallen  timber  made 
progress  difficult  except  on  the  narrow  trail.  Yet, 
slipping  and  scrambling,  the  riders  saw  fleeting 
before  them,  every  now  and  again,  the  slinking 
forms  of  the  coyotes,  running  as  always,  tail  to 
the  ground,  as  if  ashamed  of  themselves. 

Once,  a  fair-sized  grizzly,  driven  from  his  feast 
of  berries  by  the  noise,  charged  up  the  hill  towards 
the  saddle  back  which  led  into  the  Rio  Chiquito 
Valley.  It  was  useless  to  try  to  follow  him,  for 
a  bear,  despite  his  apparent  clumsiness,  can  go  up- 
hill almost  as  fast  as  he  can  down-hill,  and  faster 
than  any  other  living  creature.  A  grizzly,  in  a 


THE  COYOTE  DRIVE  129 

hurry,  in  rough  country,  is  an  amazing  example  of 
muscular  power  and  agility.  Except  on  a  flat 
plain,  a  hungry  bear  can  catch  almost  anything  on 
foot. 

The  character  of  the  country  changed  as  the 
men  descended.  Early  in  the  morning,  when 
Gavan  had  started  downwards  from  the  head- 
waters of  the  creek,  he  had  been  on  the  edge  of 
the  timber  line  in  the  Arctic-Alpine  zone,  where, 
although  it  was  September,  the  previous  winter's 
snow  was  still  lying  on  the  cold  slopes,  and  where 
the  spindling  willow  was  the  only  tree  to  be  found, 
the  prevailing  vegetation  being  moss.  Few 
coyotes  were  to  be  found  there,  for  the  Arctic- 
Alpine  zone  of  the  peaks  of  the  Sangre  de  Cristo 
range  are  but  storm  centers  around  which,  all 
summer  long,  storms  gather  and  roar,  where 
sweep  blasts  of  hail  and  torrents  of  rain  which 
irrigate  the  arid  plains  below. 

An  hour's  ride  down  the  sharply  pitching  valley, 
where  the  little  river  tossed  and  tumbled  in  a  suc- 
cession of  tiny  falls  and  swirling  rapids,  brought 
Gavan  to  another  entirely  different  zone  of  vegeta- 
tion, marked  especially  by  that  curiously  gnarled 
tree,  the  fox-tail  pine,  each  group  of  needles  of 
which  looks  like  a  green  coyote's  tail,  though 


130    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

smaller.  Along  some  of  the  slopes  the  boy  noted 
Engelmann  spruce  and  cork-barked  fir,  the  latter 
providing  a  bark  good  for  small  corks.  Here  and 
there  a  flitting  gray-tawny  form  told  of  the  rous- 
ing of  a  coyote. 

This  zone  is  narrow  and  a  scant  hour  served  to 
pass  through  it,  and,  descending  to  lower  altitude, 
Gavan  found  himself  in  the  quaking  aspen  country, 
known  as  the  Hudsonian  Zone. 

A  curious  landscape  this,  where  the  dark- 
needled  blue  spruce  and  gnarled  juniper  gleams 
somberly  amid  the  light-green  and  ever-quivering 
leaves  of  the  quaking  aspen,  whose  long  pale 
shafts  are  covered  with  writings  and  knife-draw- 
ings made  by  Mexican  sheep-herders  in  the  days 
when  the  whole  of  the  Sangre  de  Cristo  Mountains 
was  open  range.  In  this  zone  coyotes  were  more 
numerous,  and  they  fled  before  the  shouts  and 
shots  of  the  advancing  cowboys. 

Farther  down,  again,  an  old  beaver  dam  athwart 
the  stream  and  the  sudden  appearance  of  tall 
yellow  pine,  handsomest  of  all  the  trees  in  the 
mountains,  told  of  the  descent  into  the  Transition 
Zone.  Here  squirrels  darted  from  tree  to  tree 
and  Gavan  recognized  one  of  ihe  smaller  valley 
openings  as  the  place  where  he  had  treed  and  shot 


Copyright  by  Alexander  Lambert,  M.D. 

COLONEL  ROOSEVELT  AND  THE  COYOTE. 

(This,  with  several  other  pictures  shown  in  this  hook,  was  taken  during 
a  coyote  hunt  on  the  plains  in  1903.) 


THE  COYOTE  DRIVE  131 

a  mountain  lion  the  winter  before,  when  hunting 
with  Blue  Joe  Keary.  Herds  of  cattle  now  were 
passed,  for  this  was  among  the  best  mountain 
grazing  land  of  the  XO  ranch. 

Still  farther  down,  again,  the  appearance  of  the 
narrow-leaved  cottonwood  told  the  story  of  the 
approach  of  the  foothills,  a  region  so  different  in 
its  character  from  those  lying  above  it  higher 
on  the  mountain-side  that  it  seems  scarcely  pos- 
sible that  the  two  can  be  only  a  few  hours'  ride 
apart.  This  was  the  region  of  the  juniper  and 
pinon  or  nut-pine  upon  the  slopes,  broken  sud- 
denly by  higher  patches  of  sage-brush  plains, 
where  the  silver-gray  sage-brush  is  interspersed 
with  the  green  penguey  and  prickly-pear,  and 
where  cane  cactus  and  the  Spanish  bayonet  or 
yucca  flourish.  On  sheltered  slopes  a  few  stunted 
live-oak  are  to  be  found,  but  the  prevailing  vegeta- 
tion is  piiion,  juniper,  and  sage-brush.  Here  is 
the  favored  home  of  the  coyote.  Into  the  lower 
tropical  zone  of  Lower  Sonoran,  the  chase  did  not 
go,  for  this  latter  zone,  marked  plainly  by  mes- 
quite  and  creosote-bush,  does  not  extend  as  far 
north  in  New  Mexico  as  the  Sangre  de  Cristo 
Mountains. 

Noon  came  as  the  drivers  entered  the  cotton- 


132    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

wood  and  yellow-pine  belt  and  immediately  almost 
every  man  pulled  a  fish-line  and  fish-hook  from  his 
pocket,  cut  himself  a  rod  and  went  fishing  in  the 
Little  Rio  Grande.  Gavan  and  some  of  the 
younger  men  were  set  to  work  catching  grass- 
hoppers for  bait,  and,  within  half  an  hour,  a  mess 
of  mountain  trout,  large  enough  for  all  hands,  was 
cooking  on  four  large  frying-pans  over  a  couple 
of  open  fires.  Several  loaves  of  the  camp-made 
bread  had  been  brought  down,  and,  less  than  an 
hour  after  the  first  halt,  the  hunt  was  resumed, 
with  the  horses  rested  and  the  hunger  of  the 
coyote-drivers  appeased. 

It  was  towards  three  o'clock  when  the  five- 
hundred  or  more  people,  gathered  in  a  great  semi- 
circle at  the  point  where  the  foothills  debouch  into 
the  plain,  saw  the  first  slinking  form  of  a  coyote. 
They  set  up  a  great  shout  and  the  coyote,  fright- 
ened by  the  noise,  made  himself  scarce.  The 
drivers  were  close  at  his  heels,  however,  and  pres- 
ently, by  twos  and  threes,  then  by  fours  and 
fives,  coyotes  began  to  show  amid  the  juniper  and 
nut-pine  of  the  foothills,  or  might  be  seen  streak- 
ing across  the  narrow  expanse  of  lush  grass  which 
marks  the  flats  of  the  Little  Eio  Grande,  just  be- 


THE  COYOTE  DRIVE  133 

fore  it  strikes  into  the  sage-brush  plain,  and  falls 
in  swift  rapids  into  the  deep  gorge  of  the  Kio 
Grande. 

Then  the  watchers,  waiting  for  the  culmination 
of  the  drive,  heard  the  shouts  of  the  cowboys  and 
riders.  The  tawny  yellow  forms  of  the  fugitives 
now  commenced  to  sprinkle  the  hills,  looking,  at  a 
distance,  like  so  many  little  prairie  dogs.  The 
drive  was  coming  to  a  head. 

The  coyotes,  panic-stricken  by  the  shouts  be- 
hind, and  driven  to  distraction  by  the  army  wait- 
ing for  them  ahead,  commenced  to  break  away 
over  the  foothills  on  either  side. 

Then  came  Gavan  's  opportunity.  Setting  spurs 
to  his  little  pony,  he  clambered  up  the  southern 
slope  of  the  foothills  to  head  off  coyotes  which 
were  trying  to  escape.  Others,  to  right  and  left 
of  him,  followed.  On  the  northern  slope,  also,  the 
chase  was  on. 

The  coyotes,  belly  to  the  ground,  started  to  run, 
the  ponies  after  them.  Here  a  cowboy,  whirling 
his  rope,  would  catch  a  coyote  and  gallop  on,  after 
fastening  the  rope  to  his  horn,  dragging  the  coyote 
to  death  over  the  rough  and  rocky  ground. 
Others,  failing  in  the  throw,  would  turn  the 


134    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

coyotes  back  toward  the  valley,  where,  with  the 
drivers  behind  and  the  crowd  in  front,  their  doom 
seemed  sure. 

The  two  parties  neared  each  other  with  a  hun- 
dred or  two  coyotes  between.  The  mountains  re- 
echoed with  the  shouting  of  over  five  hundred  men, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  shriller  screams  of  the 
women  and  children  who  had  gathered  to  watch 
the  sport  and  at  the  same  time,  if  they  could,  to 
aid  in  the  destruction  of  their  common  enemy. 

At  this  point  the  dogs  were  loosed.  The  con- 
fusion that  raged  among  the  coyotes  before  was 
now  ten  times  confounded.  A  desperate  mass  of 
dogs  and  coyotes  littered  the  inner  part  of  the 
great  semicircle.  Well  was  it  then  that  the 
authorities  in  charge  of  the  drive  had  forbidden 
the  use  of  fire-arms,  for  assuredly,  as  many  dogs 
would  have  been  shot  as  coyotes,  and  more  feuds 
would  have  been  begun  in  consequence  than  it 
would  have  taken  a  century  to  settle. 

Moreover,  while  a  pack  of  dogs,  hunting  in  uni- 
son, is  easily  master  of  a  coyote,  it  by  no  means 
follows  that  a  single  dog  is  so.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  even  with  trained  dogs,  three  are  none  too 
few  to  tackle  a  coyote.  Small  dogs  are  useless, 
most  large  dogs  are  too  slow.  Hence,  letting  all 


THE  COYOTE  DRIVE  135 

sorts  of  untrained  dogs  indiscriminately  on  the 
coyotes  proved  more  disastrous  to  the  dogs  than 
to  the  prairie  wolves.  Though  the  jaw  of  a  coyote 
is  small — not  much  bigger  than  that  of  a  fox — the 
quick  sidewise  snap  is  terrible  in  its  execution. 
At  the  first  onslaught,  a  fair  proportion  of  the 
dogs  gave  back  howling,  with  perhaps  the  whole 
skin  of  the  side  of  the  head  ripped  away  by  the 
lightning-like  snaps  of  the  coyotes  as  they  sped  by 
without  slackening  speed. 

The  confusion  of  riders  behind,  men  in  front  and 
dogs  between  grew  too  much  for  the  coyotes. 
They  scattered  and  spread.  Some  bolted  back 
among  the  riders,  who  were  now  scattered  by 
reason  of  the  opening  out  of  the  valley  into  the 
lower  foothills,  others  dashed  to  the  sides  of  the 
semicircle  where  the  crowd  was  thinnest,  and 
others,  again,  snapping  viciously,  sped  between 
the  legs  of  the  crowd.  A  club  is  an  excellent 
weapon,  but  hard  to  wield  against  a  fleeting 
shadow  on  the  ground,  going  at  racing  speed. 
The  women  and  children  screamed  with  fright. 
Horses  attached  to  buggies  commenced  to  rear  and 
one  or  two  ran  away.  The  crowd,  which  should 
have  maintained  an  unbroken  front,  began  to 
waver,  and  coyote  after  coyote,  seizing  his  oppor- 


136    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

timity,  dived  through  the  melee  of  legs,  hoofs  and 
wheels. 

The  sport  was  fast  and  furious,  the  excitement 
even  more  intense,  but  when,  a  little  later,  the  dead 
and  captured  wolves  were  brought  together  in  the 
town,  only  seventeeen  were  found  to  have  been 
caught.  Four  had  been  roped,  seven  had  been 
caught  with  the  dogs  and  six  had  been  clubbed  to 
death.  Of  the  hundred  or  more  coyotes  which  had 
been  driven  out  of  the  valley  of  the  Little  Bio 
Grande  during  the  drive,  more  than  four-fifths  had 
escaped.1 

* '  Only  seventeen  coyotes  for  all  that  fuss, ' '  said 
Gavan  to  the  Biological  Survey  expert  that  even- 
ing; "why,  I've  trapped  almost  twice  as  many  as 
that  since  last  spring,  and  I've  been  playing  in 
hard  luck!" 

The  government  official  nodded  in  agreement. 

"Getting  the  coyote  pest  under  control,"  he 
answered,  "will  never  be  secured  by  any  such 
haphazard  methods  as  a  coyote  drive.  Like 
everything  worth  doing  in  this  world,  it  is  a 
matter  for  the  expert.  The  problem  of  the  coyote 
can  only  be  solved  by  trapping,  and  trapping 

i  In  the  Pasture  Reserve  hunt  near  Chattanooga,  Okla.,  with 
150  drivers  and  500  "spectators"  only  eleven  wolves  were  cap- 
tured. A  large  number  escaped. 


Copyright  by  Alexander  Lambert,  Al.D. 

LIVE   COYOTE    GAGGED   WITH   A   HANDKERCHIEF 


Copyright  by  Alexander  Lambert,  M.D. 

LIVE  COYOTE  FORE;  DEAD  COYOTE  AFT. 
(Both  these  pictures  are  from  the  Roosevelt  hunt.) 


THE  COYOTE  DRIVE         i37 

requires  skill,  understanding  and  any  amount  of 
hard  work." 

"Do  you  think,  Mr.  Winon,"  interposed  the 
Forest  Supervisor,  "that  coyotes  will  ever  become 
extinct  in  the  United  States  ? ' ' 

"I  hope  not,"  was  the  surprising  answer. 

* '  Why  I ' '  asked  the  Supervisor,  in  surprise.  * '  I 
thought  that  was  exactly  what  you  fellows  on  the 
Biological  Survey  were  trying  to  do." 

"No,"  answered  the  Biological  Survey  expert, 
"we  do  not  want  to  make  the  coyote  extinct  but  to 
control  the  pest.  Wholesale  slaughter  is  not  eco- 
nomically sound.  The  coyote  is  not  all  evil." 


CHAPTER  V 

THE    SMELL    TELEPHONE 

"You  were  saying,  Mr.  Winon,"  the  Forest 
Supervisor  resumed,  when  the  three  had  gone  up 
the  rickety  wooden  outside  stairs  that  led  to  the 
Supervisor's  office,  "that  the  coyote  was  not 
wholly  evil  and  that  the  Government  was  not  try- 
ing to  make  the  coyote  extinct.  Just  how  do  you 
mean?" 

"That's  easy  enough  to  see,  if  you  think  a 
moment,"  the  Biological  Survey  expert  answered. 
"Naturally,  it  mightn't  occur  to  you  at  first,  any 
more  than  it  would  to  the  lad,  here,  for  the  reason 
that  you're  in  a  cattle  country.  If  the  live-stock 
interests  of  the  United  States  were  the  only  ones 
concerned,  why,  perhaps  it  would  be  all  right  to 
destroy  the  coyote  ruthlessly.  But  Uncle  Sam 
can't  play  favorites.  If  there  is  another  large 
industry  to  which  the  coyote  is  valuable,  some  con- 
sideration has  to  be  given  to  it." 

"But  the  coyote!"  exclaimed  the  Supervisor. 
138 


THE  SMELL  TELEPHONE       139 

1  'What  earthly  use  can  a  sneaking  no-account 
creature  like  that  be  to  any  one?" 

The  expert  turned  to  Gavan. 

"Can  you  think  of  any?"  he  asked. 

"I  was  wondering,"  answered  the  boy,  hesitat- 
ingly, ' '  if  you  meant — furs  ? ' ' 

"That's  exactly  what  I  do  mean,"  the  expert 
answered.  "The  fur  industry  is  not  as  large  as 
the  live-stock  industry,  nor  perhaps  is  it  as  essen- 
tial to  the  health  and  happiness  of  the  people  of 
the  United  States.  None  the  less,  it  is  a  legiti- 
mate industry,  with  a  large  capital  investment  and 
a  recognized  place  in  the  commerce  of  the  world. 
Now,  it  is  estimated  that  coyotes  annually  destroy 
$6,000,000  worth  of  live  stock,  principally  lambs, 
calves,  and  poultry,  not  counting  their  terrible 
destruction  of  our  protected  wild  game.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  cash  value  of  the  coyote  pelts 
secured  annually  is  close  to  $3,000,000." 

"As  much  as  that?"  exclaimed  the  Supervisor, 
in  surprise. 

"At  least,  perhaps  more,  with  the  continued  ad- 
vance in  the  value  of  furs.  Now  we'll  agree,  if 
you  like,  that  it's  good  business  to  lose  $3,000,000 
to  save  $6,000,000,  but  it's  not  good  business  to 
handle  the  nation's  affairs  so  that  even  $3,000,000 


i4o    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

is  lost.  The  problem  before  the  Biological  Sur- 
vey is  to  relieve  the  live-stock  industry  from  this 
loss,  and,  at  the  same  time,  to  safeguard  the  fur 
interests  against  the  loss  that  would  accrue  to 
them  by  the  extinction  of  the  coyote.  For  ex- 
ample, the  extinction  of  the  buffalo  is  not  only  a 
loss  to  science,  but  it  is  an  economic  loss  beside. 
Buffalo  robes  might  well  have  continued  a  staple 
pelt  commodity." 

"I  should  think,"  put  in  Gavan,  "that  the 
coyotes  could  be  handled  by  the  bounty  system." 

"How  so,  my  boy?"  inquired  the  expert. 

"Well,  sir,"  explained  Gavan,  "as  I  understand 
it,  under  the  bounty  plan,  where  the  State  gives 
one  bounty,  the  county  another  and  some  of  the 
ranchmen  a  third,  coyotes  would  be  cleared  out  on 
the  ranches  and  in  the  sections  where  they  did  the 
most  harm,  and  they  would  be  let  alone  in 
sections  where  they  did  the  least  harm.  Of  course 
you  know  better  than  I  how  it  would  work  out. ' ' 

The  expert  smiled  at  the  boy. 

"It  looks  that  way,"  he  answered,  "but,  as  a 
matter  of  historical  record,  the  bounty  system  has 
turned  out  to  be  a  thoroughly  bad  one.  It  might, 
perhaps,  work  well  in  a  world  where  every  one 
was  scrupulously  honest  and  where  no  one  was 


THE  SMELL  TELEPHONE       141 

selfish.  Even  then,  however,  it  would  have  its 
disadvantages. 

"Think  for  a  moment  of  the  principle  that  lies 
behind  the  bounty  system.  It  pays  a  certain 
amount  of  money  for  evidence  that  a  coyote  has 
been  killed.  Sometimes  only  the  ears  were  re- 
quired, sometimes  the  scalp,  rarely  the  whole  skin. 
What  could  be  more  easy  than  to  substitute  the 
ears  of  a  dog  for  those  of  a  coyote?" 

"But  whoever  pays  the  bounty  ought  to  be  able 
to  tell  the  difference,  I  should  think,"  Gavan  pro- 
tested. 

"Sometimes,"  the  expert  said  curtly,  "though 
it's  not  as  easy  as  you  might  think.  But  various 
States  had  different  methods  of  paying  bounties, 
and,  often  enough,  the  town  clerk  or  some  official 
not  well  acquainted  with  animals  was  the  recipient 
of  the  skins.  Sometimes,  too — I  hate  to  say  this, 
but  it's  woefully  true — the  Town  Clerk,  the  local 
judge  and  the  bounty-claimer  were  all  in  partner- 
ship. Scores,  yes  hundreds  of  false  claims  have 
been  put  in,  and  paid,  and  the  money  split  up 
between  the  three  conspirators.  Even  if  only  five 
per  cent  of  the  bounty  claims  made  annually  were 
fraudulent,  that  would  mean  a  lot  of  money."  1 

1  As  much  as  $200,000  has  been  expended  annually  in  boun- 


142    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

"But  that's  just  stealing!"  exclaimed  Gavan, 
shocked  at  the  revelation  that  this  graft  was  so 
widespread. 

4 'Nothing  else,"  the  expert  agreed.  "But  even 
the  misrepresentation  wasn't  the  worst  aspect  of 
it.  The  most  injurious  part  of  the  bounty  system 
was  that  it  increased  the  number  of  animals  in- 
stead of  decreasing  it. ' ' 

"How  so?"  asked  the  boy. 

"Well,"  the  expert  explained,  "suppose  a  man 
was  trapping  coyote  for  bounty.  He  knew  the 
country,  he  had  a  good  trap  line,  he  had  built  him- 
self a  comfortable  cabin,  he  had  made  a  number  of 
friends.  Naturally,  he  would  like  to  stay  there. 
Now,  if  he  killed  off  all  the  coyotes  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, he  would  be  cutting  off  his  own  living. 
So,  as  a  matter  of  custom,  every  time  a  bounty- 
trapper  found  a  female  coyote  in  a  trap  he  set  her 
free.  As  each  female  coyote  has  an  annual  family 
that  averages  about  six  or  seven  pups,  he  was  sure 
of  a  constant  supply. 

"In  short,  instead  of  destroying  coyotes,  he  was 
protecting  them,  so  as  to  ensure  a  still  larger  in- 
come from  bounties  the  next  year.  The  State, 

ties,  by  various  «tates,  counties  and  ranch-owners  combined. 
Kansas,  on  coyotes  alone,  in  county  payments  expended  $20,000 
annually. 


THE  SMELL  TELEPHONE       143 

therefore,  was  paying  for  the  increase  of  the 
noxious  animals  by  the  very  system  which  was 
intended  to  exterminate  them. 

"  During  bounty  times,  almost  70,000  scalps  a 
year  were  turned  in  to  the  several  States  infested 
by  coyotes  without  any  appreciable  decrease  in 
numbers.  Moreover,  since  less  was  paid  for  a  pup 
than  for  a  full-grown  coyote,  the  bounty-seekers 
would  let  the  young  grow  up  to  adult  age,  without 
regard  to  their  destructiveness,  in  order  to  claim 
the  larger  bounty.  It  is  for  such  reasons  as  these 
that  the  Biological  Survey  is  thoroughly  antag- 
onistic to  the  bounty  system." 

;  *  That 's  why  you  Ve  started  this  system  of  en- 
gaging expert  trappers,  then  ? ' '  the  Forest  Super- 
visor hazarded. 

"Exactly.  And,"  here  the  expert  turned  his 
keen  eyes  on  the  boy,  "we're  all  the  time  looking 
for  good  material  to  train.  A  first-class  trapper 
is  a  rarity,  because  a  good  trapper  has  got  to  be 
cleverer  in  the  ways  of  the  wild  than  the  animal 
he  is  trying  to  trap.  He  has  got  to  beat  the  beast 
at  his  own  game,  and  the  wild  folk  put  human 
wisdom  to  shame  in  their  wise  prudence  and  judi- 
cious fear  of  what  they  don't  understand." 

Ga  van's  heart  beat  fast. 


144    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

"I've  got  a  little  place,  sir,"  he  said,  "half- 
ranch,  half -farm,  but  what  I  really  want  to  do  is 
trapping.  I've — I've  done  a  lot  of  it." 

The  expert  turned  on  him  with  a  look  of  interest. 

"I've  been  waiting  for  you  to  say  something 
about  it,"  he  said,  "because  I've  heard  that  you 
were  engaged  in  trapping.  You  seem  to  have  a 
lot  of  friends,  youngster,  and  one  of  the  things  I 
planned  to  do,  while  here,  is  to  have  a  chat  with 
you  about  your  work.  The  Supervisor  has  writ- 
ten to  me  about  you  and  I've  made  some  other 
inquiries.  As  I  said,  we're  looking  for  good 
material  to  train.  You're  too  young,  yet,  of 
course,  to  work  for  the  Bureau,  but  you're  not  too 
young  to  start  to  get  ready  for  such  work.  How 
would  you  like  to  be  a  government  trapper?" 

'  *  That  would  be  the  real  thing ! ' '  exclaimed  the 
boy,  in  quick  reply. 

' '  Well, ' '  the  expert  continued,  ' '  why  not  ?  You 
saw  this  coyote  drive  this  afternoon,  and  you 
yourself  commented  on  how  poor  was  the  result. 
In  fact,  you  said,  if  I  remember,  that  you  had 
trapped  twice  as  many  coyotes  in  the  season  as 
that  who\  hunt  had  produced." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"That  shows  that  you  know  something  about 


THE  SMELL  TELEPHONE       145 

trapping,  though  thirty  coyotes  is  not  a  big  catch 
for  an  entire  season.  You  ought  to  be  able  to  do 
better  than  that,  if  the  coyotes  are  numerous 
around  here.  Who  taught  you?" 

"My  cousin,  sir,  Blue  Joe  Keary;  you  may 
have  heard  of  him,"  said  the  boy.  "And,  lately, 
an  Indian  has  been  giving  me  pointers." 

The  expert  shook  his  head. 

"I  don't  want  to  seem  to  criticize  your  friends," 
he  said,  "but  the  old  ways  don't  work  any  more. 
It's  a  great  mistake  to  suppose  that  the  methods 
which  were  effective  in  frontier  days  will  serve 
now.  Of  course,  in  Alaska,  in  the  Canadian 
North-West  Territories,  or  wherever  game  is 
plentiful  and  man  is  scarce,  almost  any  bait  set 
which  is  not  too  carelessly  made  will  catch  a  cer- 
tain proportion  of  unwary  animals.  But  the  wild 
folk,  gray  wolf  in  particular,  learn  to  fear  danger 
with  a  quickness  that  is  marvelous.  Moreover, 
they  seem  to  be  able  to  warn  their  comrades  in 
some  way,  with  the  result  that  a  discovered  trap 
set,  or  an  animal  which  has  got  away  leaving  a  foot 
or  some  toes  in  the  trap,  will  act  as  a  warning  to 
the  entire  district." 

"Then  how  should  trapping  be  done,  now?" 
asked  the  boy. 


146    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

"There's  not  such  a  very  great  deal  of  differ- 
ence in  the  main  character  of  the  work,"  the 
expert  answered;  "it's  principally  the  difference 
between  slight  carelessness  and  extreme  careful- 
ness, and  between  only  guessing  at  an  animal's 
habits  and  knowing  them  thoroughly.  If  you've 
been  working  with  an  Indian,  you've  probably 
learned  a  lot  about  actual  following  up  of  a  trail, 
and  your  eye  will  have  become  alert  for  signs. 
That  is  exceedingly  important,  because,  before  set- 
ting a  trap  for  an  animal,  you  must  know  where 
the  animal  is.  The  other  part  of  the  art  of  trap- 
ping is  just  as  important.  After  knowing  where 
the  animal  is,  or  is  likely  to  be,  you  must  learn 
how  to  catch  him. 

"Let  me  see,"  he  continued,  "your  place  is  near 
theXO,  isn't  it?" 

"Not  more  than  a  mile  or  two  out  of  the  way," 
Gavan  replied. 

"I've  got  to  go  to  the  ranch,"  said  the  expert, 
"to  investigate  a  report  of  a  cattle-killing  grizzly 
which  is  operating  there.  The  Supervisor,  here, 
will  lend  me  a  pony.  If  you  like,  I'll  ride  out  with 
you  in  the  morning,  and  before  I  go  on  to  the 
ranch,  I'll  give  you  some  ideas  about  trapping." 


• 


Courtesy  of  U.  S.  Forest  Service. 

TWO   COYOTES   TRAPPED   AT   THE    SAME   TIME. 

Special  trappers  are  employed  on  the  National  Forests  to  try  to  keep 
down  the  predatory  animal  pest. 


Courtesy  of  U.  S.  Forest  Service. 

CATTLE  GRAZING  ON  NATIONAL  FOREST  IN  COLORADO. 

Coyotes  are  becoming  more  and  more  skilful  in  the  slaughter  of  calv< 

and  yearlings.    The  young  of  all  farm  animals  are  a 

frequent  prey,  and  turkeys,  ducks,  geese,  and 

hens  are  slain  by  scores. 


THE  SMELL  TELEPHONE       147 

The  boy  agreed  with  great  delight  and  next 
morning  the  two  rode  out  together.  On  reaching 
the  ranch,  Gavan  showed  the  expert  the  improve- 
ments he  had  made  in  the  land,  and  the  latter 
listened  with  intense  interest,  closely  studying 
the  lad  the  while. 

1  'And  which  do  you  like  best,  farming,  ranching, 
or  trapping?"  he  asked. 

* '  Oh,  trapping,  sir ! "  the  boy  answered.  * '  Only 
I  don't  seem  so  lucky  at  it,  lately." 

"There's  no  luck  in  trapping,"  the  expert  an- 
swered. "It's  purely  a  game  of  skill.  If  you 
are  cleverer  than  the  animal,  you  '11  catch  him.  If 
he's  cleverer  than  you  are,  he'll  escape  you.  It's 
your  wits  against  his." 

1 '  Then  one  ought  to  catch  a  coyote  every  time ! 
We've  got  more  brains  than  a  coyote." 

"Maybe,"  the  expert  retorted,  "and  maybe  not. 
A  man's  brains  may  be  more  developed,  but  it 
doesn't  follow  that  he  has  them  concentrated.  A 
man  has  to  think  of  a  lot  of  things.  A  coyote  has 
only  to  figure  out  how  to  get  a  meal  and  how  to 
save  his  own  skin.  In  trapping,  you  must  con- 
centrate your  mind  on  that  problem  alone,  to  the 
expulsion  of  all  others.  Then  you'll  get  Mr. 


148    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

Coyote,  mighty  nearly  every  time.  It's  not  the 
cleverest  man  that  makes  the  best  trapper,  but  the 
most  concentrated  and  the  most  patient. 

"Now,  son,  there's  just  two  ways  to  trap.  One 
is  to  do  things  wrong  so  often  that  by  and  by  you 
learn  what  to  avoid.  That  is  the  old  trappers' 
system.  The  other  is  to  take  advantage  of  what 
has  already  been  definitely  found  out  about  the 
animals'  habits  and  to  work  directly  on  those  with 
the  most  improved  methods.  That 's  the  scientific 
way.  Of  course,  it  takes  experience,  even  when 
you  know  how,  to  use  your  knowledge  to  the  fullest 
advantage,  but  to  begin  right  means  a  lot. 

1 1  Tell  me,  Gavan,  do  you  know  any  place  where 
the  coyotes  are  scratching?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  the  boy  answered,  "I  can  take  you 
right  to  one.  Quick  Feather  showed  it  to  me  the 
other  day  and  baited  a  trap  with  pieces  of  jack- 
rabbit  there." 

"Have  you  caught  anything  in  that  set?" 

*  *  Just  one  young  one, ' '  the  boy  answered, ' '  and 
that  was  nearly  two  weeks  afterwards. ' ' 

' l  Caught  anything  there  since  ? ' ' 

"No,  sir." 

"And  you're  not  likely  to.    Now,  before  we 


THE  SMELL  TELEPHONE       149 

start  out,  I'll  show  you  how  to  prepare  a  trap. 
Have  you  any  wire  around?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  the  boy  answered,  "I've  got  some 
baling  wire." 

"Good.     Bring  it  out  to  me  at  the  woodpile." 

Gavan  went  into  the  house  and  came  out  a  few 
minutes  later  with  a  stout  piece  of  wire.  He 
found  the  expert  busily  shaping  a  stake  with  the 
ax. 

"See  here,  son,"  he  said,  "take  a  piece  of  wood 
about  two  and  a  half  inches  in  diameter,  after  the 
bark  is  off.  It  makes  no  difference  whether  the 
wood  is  dry  or  green.  Cut  if  off  just  about  two 
feet  long,  though  an  inch  or  two  more  won't  make 
any  difference.  Don't  sharpen  it  to  a  point,  but 
shave  it  down  with  the  ax  on  both  sides  so  that, 
from  three  inches  from  the  top,  it  gradually 
tapers  to  an  edge,  something  like  a  cold  chisel. 
Three  inches  from  the  top  whittle  it  with  your 
knife  gradually  upwards  for  two  inches,  so  as  to 
make  a  shoulder  on  the  pin.  One  inch  from  the 
top,  the  shoulder  should  end,  with  a  collar  abso- 
lutely straight  all  round.  Then  take  a  piece  of 
wire,  this  way,"  he  illustrated,  "and  with  a  pair 
of  pliers  wrap  it  around  the  pin  three  times,  just 


150    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

under  the  collar,  so  that  it  will  fit  fairly  snugly. 
It  ought  to  fit  snugly  enough,  so  that  there  is  no 
chance  of  its  slipping  over  the  collar  of  the  pin, 
and  at  the  same  time,  loose  enough  so  that  it  will 
slide  easily  around  the  shoulder." 

"What's  that  for,  sir?"  asked  the  boy. 

"That's  to  act  as  a  swivel,"  the  expert  ex- 
plained. "When  the  chain  of  the  trap  is  fastened 
to  that  stake,  and  the  stake  is  driven  down  clear 
to  the  head,  an  animal,  if  caught  in  it,  can't  pinch 
the  trap  and  twist  his  leg  out  of  it.  Every  time 
he  jerks  around,  the  wire  will  revolve  with  him. 
He  hasn't  half  the  chance  to  pull  the  pin  out 
that  he  would  if  there  were  no  play  on  the  chain. 

"Now,  as  you  see,  that  leaves  only  an  inch 
of  wood  above  this  swivel.  If  you  leave  it  that 
way,  and  the  coyote  jerks  hard  enough,  the  wood 
might  split  above  the  collar  and  the  wire  would 
slip  off.  So,  half  an  inch  from  the  top,  notch  the 
wood  with  your  knife,  not  very  deeply,  perhaps  a 
quarter  to  a  half  an  inch  deep,  and  wrap  another 
piece  of  wire  around,  twisting  it  tightly  with  the 
pliers.  That  will  hold  the  head  of  the  stake  solid 
so  that  it  won't  split  when  you're  driving  it,  and 
so  that  there 's  no  chance  of  the  coyote  splitting  a 


THE  SMELL  TELEPHONE       151 

piece  of  the  collar  off  in  his  frantic  jumps.  A 
well-made  pin  like  that  will  last  you  a  long  time, 
unless  the  end  of  it  becomes  too  much  used  up  by 
being  driven  into  the  ground.  Besides  which, 
stakes  can  be  found  anywhere  and  your  pins  will 
cost  you  nothing.  Fasten  the  chain  of  the  trap  to 
the  stake  by  a  stout  wire  and  you  needn't  be 
afraid  of  the  coyote  pulling  away.  That's  not 
so  much  trouble,  is  it?" 

"No,  sir,  the  boy  replied,  "that's  easy  enough. 
But  why  is  the  stake  better  than  fastening  the  trap 
to  a  bush  or  a  clog!" 

"I'll  tell  you,"  the  expert  answered.  "In  the 
first  place,  suppose  the  trap  is  fastened  to  a  bush. 
You  can't  always  find  a  bush  growing  exactly 
where  you'd  want  it,  and  even  if  you  do,  it  is 
necessary  to  disturb  a  great  deal  more  ground  to 
hide  your  chain.  Then,  when  you  catch  your 
coyote,  he's  got  a  straight  drag  on  the  bush.  He 
may  run  around  the  bush  a  few  times,  he  probably 
will,  in  fact,  winding  the  chain  round  the  bush, 
and  that  gives  him  a  strong  purchase  by  which  he 
can  twist  his  foot  out  of  the  trap,  or  maybe,  gnaw 
his  leg  off.  Now,  with  a  swivel,  each  time  that  the 
coyote  jumps,  the  swivel  turns  a  little.  That's 


152     WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

apt  to  make  the  animal  think  that  his  chain  is 
giving  and  he  will  keep  at  it.  Also,  he  has  no 
real  purchase  on  which  to  twist." 

"How  about  the  clog,  then!"  asked  the  boy. 

"Lots  of  old  trappers  use  a  clog,"  the  expert 
answered,  "and  many  of  them  have  a  great  deal 
of  success  with  it.  But,  son,  those  trappers  are 
generally  men  who  are  working  in  the  densest 
forests  or  the  least  inhabited  places,  looking  for 
fur.  What  you're  trying  to  do  is  to  trap  coyotes 
in  a  section  where  they're  getting  shy. 

"There's  a  pile  of  difference  between  going  to 
an  out-of-the-way  place  to  trap  beasts  for  fur,  and 
staying  right  down  near  a  ranch  trapping  wary 
animals  to  get  rid  of  them  as  predatory  nuisances. 
You're  dealing  with  the  most  difficult  end  of  the 
problem,  they,  ivith  the  easiest. 

"Now,  son,  that  we've  got  the  stakes  ready,  if 
you'll  trot  out  the  ponies,  we'll  go  along." 

The  expert  swung  himself  into  the  saddle,  taking 
with  him  the  small  bundle  wrapped  up  in  canvas, 
that  he  had  brought  from  town.  Gavan  guided 
the  expert  directly  to  the  place  where  the  Indian 
had  shown  him  before.  Without  dismounting 
from  the  saddle,  the  government  man  eyed  it 
carefully. 


THE  SMELL  TELEPHONE       153 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I  think  this  place  ought  to  be 
all  right.  Now  watch,  Gavan,  and  observe  exactly 
what  I  do.  Don't  miss  a  detail,  if  you  can  help 
it." 

The  expert  then  unwrapped  the  canvas.  It 
was  of  good  size  and  contained  a  second  small 
bundle  tied  around  with  a  piece  of  buckskin. 

"First  of  all,"  he  said,  "  I  throw  this  canvas 
down  on  the  ground,  being  sure  that  it  falls  al- 
ways on  the  same  side.  Most  of  your  labor  will 
be  wasted  if  you  don't  observe  that  small  pre- 
caution. Then,  dismount  from  your  pony  so  that 
your  feet  come  on  the  piece  of  canvas.  Thus,  the 
under  side  of  the  canvas  will  never  have  come  in 
contact  with  your  feet.  In  rolling  it  up,  as  I  will 
show  you,  don 't  touch  the  under  side. ' ' 

"That's  so  as  to  prevent  the  smell  of  your  boots 
and  hands?"  the  boy  queried. 

"Exactly." 

"But  I've  seen  some  of  the  trappers  smear  the 
fat  from  an  animal  on  the  soles  of  their  shoes. 
Doesn't  that  act  as  well  to  disguise  the  Man- 
smell?" 

"You're  trapping  for  coyote,"  the  expert  re- 
minded him.  * ;  Every  strange  smell  that  a  trapper 
leaves  behind  him,  whether  it  be  of  man  or  another 


154    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

animal,  is  likely  to  make  the  coyote  suspicious. 
You  need  to  remember,  too,  that  one  •  essential 
point  is  keeping  things  dry.  If  your  hands  are 
absolutely  dry  and  without  grease,  if  the  ground 
were  absolutely  dry,  you  could  walk  about  and 
handle  the  trap  without  much  danger  of  leaving  a 
smell.  But  neither  your  hands  nor  your  boots 
are  ever  exactly  dry.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
canvas  is  dry,  and  while,  if  you  lay  on  it  for  an 
hour,  your  smell  would  go  through  and  impreg- 
nate the  ground,  it  won't  do  so  during  the  ten 
minutes  or  so  that  it  takes  to  set  a  trap. 

"Now,"  he  continued,  unfastening  the  little 
bundle,  tied  with  a  thong  of  buckskin,  "I  keep  in 
this  a  pair  of  gloves.  Any  kind  of  heavy  gloves 
will  do,  but  buckskin  is  the  best.  Don't  take  a 
glove  with  dye  or  dressing  on  it,  just  a  plain  glove. 
Use  them  for  nothing  but  setting  traps,  and  don 't 
keep  them  on  your  hands  one  minute  longer  than 
necessary.  Herein,  too,  is  a  small  ax. 

"First  of  all  we  must  decide  exactly  where  to 
dig  the  hole  for  the  trap,  choosing  the  site  at  one 
side  of  the  registering  place,  at  just  about  the 
place  the  coyote  would  stand  to  use  the  smell  tele- 
phone. Now,  Gavan,  on  which  side  of  this  little 
bush  ought  I  to  put  the  trap?" 


THE  SMELL  TELEPHONE       155 

The  boy  thought  for  a  moment. 

"I  don't  see  that  it  makes  much  difference,"  he 
said. 

The  expert  smiled. 

"Oh,  yes,  it  does,"  he  answered.  "Think  for 
a  minute  of  your  telephone.  You  have  to  stand 
in  front  of  it,  don't  you,  to  talk  into  the  trans- 
mitter?" 

"Sure!" 

"Well,  there's  a  transmitter  here,"  the  expert 
continued.  "A  coyote  always  comes  up  to  an 
object  from  leeward.  He  will  trust  nothing  that 
he  has  not  tested  out  with  his  nose.  So,  to  set 
a  trap  properly,  you  have  to  go  to  find  out  what 
is  the  prevailing  wind.  Every  section  of  this 
country  has  the  wind  from  one  quarter  more  often 
than  from  the  others.  Here,  in  New  Mexico,  in 
this  valley,  the  prevailing  wind  is  from  the  south 
or  the  south-west.  Where  should  the  trap  be, 
then?" 

"To  the  north  or  the  north-east,"  the  boy 
answered. 

"And  which  way  lies  north-east?" 

The  boy  looked  at  the  sun. 

"It  must  be  half -past  ten  o'clock,"  he  figured, 
* l  so  that  the  north  should  be  that  way. ' ' 


156    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

"Then  we'll  put  the  trap  on  that  side.  And,  if 
you'll  look  at  the  ground  closely,  Gavan,  you'll 
see  there  are  coyote  tracks  on  that  side  of  the 
bush.  Are  there  any  on  the  other?" 

"No,"  said  the  boy,  peering  at  the  ground,  "I 
don't  see  any." 

"Then  we're  on  the  right  side  for  sure.  Now 
we'll  dig  the  hole.  And,"  he  added,  "be  careful 
how  you  take  up  the  ground." 

He  knelt  on  the  canvas. 

"First  of  all,"  the  expert  said,  "I  scrape  up 
with  my  gloved  hand  all  the  loose  dirt  and  twigs 
that  lie  on  top  of  the  ground.  That  I  put  on  the 
canvas  to  my  left.  Then  I  loosen  up  the  top 
ground  with  the  ax  and  scrape  it,  making 
a  depth  of  about  an  inch,  not  more.  I  scoop  up 
that  soil  and  put  it  to  my  right.  Then  with  the 
ax  I  cut  the  hole  just  the  depth  I  need,  perhaps 
two  and  a  half  inches  for  a  trap  of  this  size. 
Shape  the  hole  angle-wise,  like  the  wings  of  a  big 
bird  flying,  as  the  jaws  will  sit  better  than  if  the 
springs  are  out  straight.  The  soil  from  that  hole 
I  put  between  my  knees.  This  may  all  seem  un- 
necessary to  you,  Gavan,  but  I'll  show  you  in  a 
minute  that  it  means  a  lot. 

"Then  we  put  the  trap  in  the  hole  just  about 


THE  SMELL  TELEPHONE       157 

the  distance  that  a  coyote  would  stand  to  register, 
setting  the  pan  fairly  firmly,  so  that  if  a  bird 
should  happen  to  hop  across  on  the  earth  above, 
it  would  not  spring  it.  Next,  taking  the  earth 
that  I  had  put  between  my  knees,  I  sprinkle  it 
back  in  the  hold,  carefully  filling  in  until  it  is  level 
with  the  pan.  With  this  small  twig,  however, 
which  I  always  carry,  and  which  is  bent,  as  you 
see,  I  carefully  scrape  the  dirt  from  under  the 
pan." 

"To  keep  it  from  filling  underneath,"  the  boy 
agreed.  "I  do  that,  too." 

*  *  Every  good  trapper  must,  otherwise  when  the 
animal  steps  on  the  pan,  it  would  not  go  down 
far  enough  to  release  the  catch  and  let  the  springs 
work.  Then  I  take  the  soil  that  I  have  put  on 
the  right  hand  and  sprinkle  some  of  it  over 
everything  until  all  is  covered  except  the  pan. 

"Now,  Gavan,"  he  said,  "here's  another  trick 
you  may  not  know.  What  do  you  generally  put 
on  the  pan,  to  keep  the  dirt  from  falling  around 
and  under  it?" 

"I  use  paper,"  said  the  boy,  "but  Quick  Feather 
used  leaves." 

"Leaves  are  better  than  paper,"  the  expert  said, 
"because  paper  is  manufactured  and  smells  of 


158    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

the  factory,  but  I  use  something  which  is  better 
than  either.  I  carry  a  lot  of  them  with  me,  all 
cut  to  the  proper  size.  They  are  just  pieces  of 
thin  sacking,  which  has  half  rotted  and  has  been 
lying  on  the  ground  exposed  to  all  weathers. 

"Anything  rotted  will  do,  an  old  shirt  or  rag. 
A  good  trapper  will  wash  his  discarded  rags  and 
spread  them  where  the  sun  and  rain  will  beat  on 
them.  Nothing  that  I  know  of  seems  to  absorb 
so  exactly  the  earth  smell. 

"Not  only  does  paper  never  get  that  odor,  for 
it  will  decay  first,  but  the  worst  of  paper  is  that 
when  the  animal  steps  on  the  pan,  the  paper 
rustles.  Sometimes  a  coyote's  ears  are  so  quick 
that  in  the  fraction  of  a  second  that  elapses  be- 
tween his  touching  the  pan  and  the  snapping  of 
the  springs,  the  rustle  of  the  paper  will  give  him  a 
chance  to  jump  and  he'll  be  caught  only  by  one 
toe  and  so  wiggle  his  way  out.  That's  why  I  use 
earth-rotted  cloth. 

"Now,  with  the  pan  covered,  I  take  the  top  soil 
which  I  had  placed  to  the  left  and  sprinkle  that 
over  until  the  trap  is  entirely  hidden.  Do  you  see 
why  I  divide  the  earth  in  this  way?" 

"No,  sir,"  the  boy  said,  "not  exactly." 

"Because    subsoil    has    a    fresher    smell   than 


THE  SMELL  TELEPHONE       159 

earth  which  has  been  exposed  to  the  sun.  It's 
true  that  half  an  hour  after  you  leave  a  trap, 
even  if  you  left  some  damp  soil  exposed,  the 
sun  would  dry  it,  so  that  it  would  look  all  right. 
But  the  fresh  deep-earth  smell  would  be  there  and 
Mr.  Coyote  would  know  that  all  was  not  right. 
How  •  could  surface  soil  smell  like  subsoil? 
Lastly  we  sprinkle  back  over  the  smoothened 
earth  the  twigs  and  surface  material  that  was 
there  before. ' ' 

He  completed  the  job  and  then  leaned  back 
on  his  haunches. 

"Now,  Gavan,"  he  said,  "how  does  it  look  to 
you?" 

The  boy  leaned  over  from  the  saddle  and  ex- 
amined the  ground  carefully.  There  was  not  a 
sign  to  show  that  the  earth  had  been  moved. 

"It  looks  great!"  he  declared  appreciatively. 
"It's  what  I  call  a  perfect  set." 

The  expert  shook  his  head  at  him  sadly. 

"You've  got  to  get  your  eyes  better  trained  than 
that,"  he  said.  "Look  at  the  way  these  light  bits 
of  grass  are  lying,"  he  pointed  to  the  ground 
where  the  trap  was  hidden,  "and  then  at  these," 
pointing  to  a  piece  a  foot  away. 

"They  look  the  same  to  me,"  said  Gavan. 


160    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 


. .  i 


'  They  're  not, ' '  said  the  expert.  '  *  We  said  that 
the  prevailing  wind  was  south-west,  didn't  we? 
Then  dust  and  very  light  particles  would  lie  more 
or  less  in  the  direction  of  the  wind.  See,  now, 
I'll  take  this  small  piece  of  canvas,  in  which 
my  tools  were  wrapped  up,  and  wave  it  vigorously 
over  the  dust  a  few  times.  That  will  give  it  the 
effect  of  a  wind-whipped  place,  and  now,"  he 
added,  when  he  had  suited  the  action  to  the  words, 
"I  think  it  would  take  a  pretty  keen-nosed  coyote 
to  smell  anything  and  a  keen-eyed  coyote  to  see 
anything. 

"Last  of  all,"  he  concluded,  "comes  the  bait." 

The  expert  took  from  the  bundle  a  small  bottle 
(it  had  been  a  bottle  for  mouth-wash  once)  and 
jerked  a  few  drops  of  liquid  on  the  leaves  of  the 
little  shrub. 

"Not  too  much  of  it,"  he  warned,  "or  the  scent 
will  be  too  strong.  We  are  just  doing  what  the 
coyote  does,  leaving  a  message  on  the  smell  tele- 
phone. He  will  be  as  sure  to  come  up  to  that, 
as  the  average  man  is  sure  to  want  his  morning 
newspaper.  He  wants  the  news  of  the  neighbor- 
hood. 

"Then,  having  smelt  our  message — which  may 
puzzle  him  a  little — he  puts  his  own  message  there, 


THE  SMELL  TELEPHONE       161 

and  in  moving  around  to  do  so,  places  his  foot  in 
the  trap.  Thus  Mr.  Coyote  is  caught,  and  the 
farmers  in  the  neighborhood  will  be  less  impov- 
erished in  the  matter  of  lambs  and  poultry." 

"When  we  get  back  to  your  cabin,"  he  con- 
tinued, "I'll  give  you  some  bait  out  of  this  bottle 
and  tell  you  just  how  to  make  it  for  yourself.1 
And,  Gavan,  if  you'll  set  your  traps  just  the  way 
you've  seen  me  do,  it's  a  pretty  sure  bet  that 
you'll  catch  twice  as  many  coyotes  as  before.  The 
work  is  needed,  too,  for  the  losses  due  to  coyotes 
are  getting  very  heavy." 

"Do  coyotes  destroy  so  much  stock?"  the  boy 
queried. 

"The  damage  last  year,"  said  the  expert,  "was 
estimated  at  $6,000,000  in  the  Western  States. 
And  I  suppose  if  one  were  to  add  all  the  losses, 
here  and  there,  due  to  the  coyote  but  not  directly 
traced  to  him,  such  as  game,  it  wouldn't  be  far 
out  to  say  that  the  coyote  causes  to  the  farmers, 
live-stock  and  sheep  raisers  of  the  U.  S.  not  less 
than  eight  million  dollars  annually. 

i  As  the  making  of  this  coyote  bait  requires  certain  processes 
upon  a  dead  animal,  the  writer  thinks  it  better  not  to  enter 
into  details  for  the  general  reader.  The  Bureau  of  Biological 
Survey,  however,  will  be  glad  to  give  details  to  any  one  inter- 
ested in  coyote-trapping. 


162     WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

"In  many  large  sections  of  the  West,  sheep- 
raising,  which  was  once  one  of  the  most  profitable 
industries,  has  been  abandoned,  simply  because 
the  coyotes  are  numerous,  large  and  fond  of 
mutton.  Montana,  three  times  the  size  of  Eng- 
land, and  with  something  like  forty  times  the 
available  area  for  sheep-raising,  raises  only  one- 
fifth  of  the  sheep  that  England  does.  Why?  Be- 
cause of  the  coyote.  In  England  every  farmer  or 
or  landowner  can  have  a  flock  of  sheep.  In 
Montana  the  only  way  in  which  sheep  can  be 
kept  is  in  immense  herds,  with  herders  on  the 
watch  all  the  time  to  escape  possible  loss. 

"I  remember,  myself,  once,  when  I  was  camp- 
ing near  Bozeman,  in  Montana,  a  flock  of  about 
4,000  sheep  passed  by  and  camped  a  little  farther 
on.  That  night  a  band  of  coyotes — they  don't 
usually  run  in  bands  either,  but  generally  two 
or  at  the  most,  three — ran  into  the  sheep  and 
stampeded  them.  Nearly  500  sheep  were  driven 
over  the  bluffs,  while  several  score  others  limped 
into  neighbors'  barnyards,  days  after,  with  their 
flanks  half  torn  to  pieces. 

"Don't  forget,  Gavan,  that  the  coyote  is  a  killer, 
first  and  last.  Poultry  are  a  choice  tidbit.  In 
the  West,  where  the  fowls  range  at  large,  a  cer- 


Courtesy  of  U.  S.  Forest  Service. 

COYOTE  TRAPPED  BY  FOREST  RANGER. 
Several  different  Government  bureaus  are  engaged  in  the  stern  task  of 

keeping  down  predatory  wild  animals. 


Courtesy  of  U.  S.  Forest  Service. 

HALF  A  MILLION  SHEEP  DESTROYED  BY  COYOTES  YEARLY. 
Over  large  parts  of  the  South-West,  the  wool  industry  is  crippled  ;  fenc- 
ing is  the  sole  protection,  and  the  cost  of  fencing  is 
almost  prohibitive. 


THE  SMELL  TELEPHONE       163 

tain  proportion  must  be  regarded  as  certain  of 
loss  by  coyotes.  Turkeys,  which  range  far  afield 
in  search  of  grasshoppers  and  other  insects,  are 
frequent  victims.  In  Idaho,  coyotes  have  taken  to 
entering  the  hen-roosts.  One  man  lost  90  hens 
in  two  nights.  Young  pigs  have  no  chance. 
Even  the  house  cat,  an  animal  generally  well  able 
to  defend  herself,  is  snapped  up  and  eaten  by 
coyotes. 

"On  the  live-stock  ranches  a  great  many  calves 
are  killed.  The  coyotes  seem  to  know  when  a  calf 
is  going  to  be  born  and  they  lie  in  the  grass  and 
watch  the  mother.  After  the  birth,  when  the  cow 
goes  to  the  nearest  water-hole  for  a  drink  and  is 
compelled  to  leave  the  new-born  calf,  as  yet  un- 
able to  walk,  the  coyotes  rush  in  and  kill  it. 
Calves  several  months  old  are  easy  game,  and  even 
yearlings  are  killed  if  they  are  a  little  distance 
from  the  herd. 

"Any  one  who  is  trapping  coyotes,  Gavan,  is 
doing  a  good  work  for  his  country.  Interesting 
though  the  little  animal  may  be,  he  has  got  to 
be  kept  under  control.  I  don't  say  exterminated, 
for  the  coyote  eats  a  lot  of  rabbits  and  other 
rodents  such  as  prairie  dogs,  which  are  highly  in- 
jurious to  the  farmer.  But,  so  far  as  the  cattle 


164    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

and  sheep  industry  is  concerned,  the  coyote  has 
got  to  go.  Either  that,  or  the  sheep-raisers  will 
have  to  be  willing  to  fence." 

1 '  Why  don 't  they f  "  the  boy  asked.  " I've  often 
thought  about  that.  I  should  think  fencing  would 
settle  everything." 

"So  it  would,"  the  expert  answered,  "but 
fencing  costs  money.  It's  no  use  putting  up  a 
poor  fence.  To  start  with,  a  dot-and-carry-one 
fence,  a  couple  of  feet  high,  will  keep  a  coyote 
out  the  first  year.  But,  next  season,  he  will  have 
found  out  the  way  to  jump  it.  That  is  dangerous, 
for  one  coyote  will  teach  the  trick  to  another,  and 
although  coyotes  do  not  seem  to  understand  jump- 
ing naturally,  they  take  to  it  quite  readily. 

"It  is  much  more  important  to  make  a  coyote 
fence-proof  against  the  animals  crawling  under  or 
working  their  way  through  than  against  jumping. 
That  necessity  means  not  only  a  very  complete 
fence,  but  also  a  very  solidly  built  one.  It  means 
a  fence  that  is  anchored  to  the  ground.  It  means 
a  woven-wire  fence  with  a  mesh  less  than  5  by  5 
inches  and  preferably  triangular.  The  wire 
should  be  40  inches  in  height  supplemented  by 
two  or  three  barbed  wires  above  it  5  inches  apart, 


THE  SMELL  TELEPHONE       165 

and  one  barbed  wire  on  the  bottom  to  prevent  dig- 
ging." 

"But  wouldn't  a  fence  like  that  cost  a  lot?"  the 
boy  asked. 

"It  does  cost  enormously,"  was  the  reply. 
"It  depends  on  locality  and  cost  of  labor  and  a 
heap  of  other  factor?,  but  I  should  say  that 
$300  a  mile  would  cover  it.  Now,  a  section  of 
land  contains  640  acres  and  is  exactly  a  mile 
square.  It  would  need  four  miles  of  fencing, 
therefore,  to  take  in  so  small  a  bit  of  land.  If  it 
were  irregular  in  shape,  probably  the  fencing 
length  would  be  at  least  fifty  per  cent.  more.  A 
ranch  of  640  acres,  therefore,  would  need  six  miles 
of  fence.  But  ranches  of  6,400  acres  are  consid- 
ered small,  and  even  ranches  of  64,000  acres  are 
by  no  means  rare.  In  the  latter  case  the  fence 
might  need  to  be  as  long  as  50  miles,  if  its  shape 
was  sufficiently  irregular.  Even  if  absolutely 
square,  the  fence  would  need  to  be  40  miles  in 
length. 

"Now  a  good  coyote-proof  fence,  especially  in 
broken  country,  where  it  is  necessary  to  run  up 
and  down  hills,  over  rocky  and  stony  slopes, 
through  gullies  apt  to  be  suddenly  filled  with  flood- 


1 66    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

streams  and  which  would  need  damming  and  the 
like,  could  not  be  built  for  much  less  than  the 
$300  per  mile  I  mentioned.  To  fence  such  a 
ranch  would  mean  an  outlay  of  at  least  $15,000. 
Not  every  ranchman  has  that  cash  capital  to  in- 
vest, and,  even  if  he  did  invest  it,  a  good  many 
years  would  pass  before  he  would  get  the  money 
back  in  profits  from  the  ranch. 

"  Moreover,  a  fence  has  to  be  kept  in  repair. 
Not  all  p'eople  are  regardful  of  their  neighbors' 
fences.  Tourists,  especially,  are  frequent  tres- 
passers. They  lose  their  way,  come  to  a  fence, 
and,  seeing  an  old  but  now  unused  trail  going 
through  on  the  other  side,  will  cut  the  wire.  Few 
will  take  the  trouble  to  repair  it  again,  and  in 
any  case,  even  with  the  best  intention,  they  could 
not  repair  it  as  solidly  as  it  was  before.  Many 
others,  mainly  motorists,  will  go  through  a  gate 
and,  because  it  looks  as  though  there  were  not  a 
habitation  for  miles,  will  leave  the  gate  open. 

"The  world  has  not  all  become  honest,  either, 
and  there  are  always  some  people  on  the  watch 
for  maverick  or  unbranded  cattle,  which,  of  course, 
can  only  be  taken  off  the  ranch  by  breaking 
through  the  fence. 

"Slides,   also,   or   small   landslips,   caused   by 


THE  SMELL  TELEPHONE       167 

wash-outs,  will  displace  and  tear  down  a  fence,  and 
the  same  wash-outs  will  rip  through  a  little  gully 
no  bigger  than  an  irrigation  ditch  and  scoop  the 
ground  away  so  that  the  fence  is  left  high  and 
dry,  perhaps  the  lowest  wires  a  couple  of  feet 
in  the  air.  Nine  times  out  of  ten  the  coyote  finds 
this  out  sooner  than  the  ranchman  does,  and5  be- 
fore the  fence  is  repaired,  two  or  three  or  maybe 
half-a-dozen  coyotes  are  inside  the  fence. 

*  *  Now,  on  a  ranch  of  64,000  acres,  in  rough  and 
broken  country,  there  are  innumerable  places  for 
coyotes  to  hide,  especially  if  the  ranch  includes 
some  mountainous  as  well  as  prairie  country. 
Unless  those  coyotes  get  trapped  that  season, 
which  is  quite  improbable,  next  April  each  pair 
of  coyotes  will  have  from  four  to  nine  pups. 

"It  is  easy  to  see  that  the  fence  is  no  longer 
any  protection,  and  that  hunting  has  to  begin 
again,  inside  the  fence,  otherwise  the  coyotes  will 
flourish  there,  and,  having  domesticated  and  fence- 
trained  flocks  at  their  disposal,  they  will  find  a 
mutton  or  veal  dinner  easy  to  get,  will  develop 
the  taste  for  it,  and  abandon  their  staple  foods 
of  jack-rabbit,  ground-squirrel,  prairie-dog,  kan- 
garoo-rat, pocket-gopher,  and  field-mice — the  de- 
struction of  which  is  beneficial  to  man — for 


1 68     WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

what  they  probably  regard  as  a  more  delicate  diet. 

"So  fencing,  you  see,  Gavan,  not  only  requires 
to  be  very  exactly  done,  but  also,  it  must  be  fre- 
quently examined — every  week  or  so,  preferably 
— and  every  break  must  be  instantly  repaired. 
On  a  100,000-acre  ranch,  over  rough  country,  it 
will  take  one  man's  time  to  keep  the  fence  in 
constant  repair.  His  wages  for  a  year,  though, 
will  be  but  a  fraction  of  the  amount  that  would 
be  caused  by  predatory  animal  losses. 

"  Since,  however,  the  government  cannot  de- 
mand from  every  rancher  that  he  construct  a 
fence  of  such  expense  and  magnitude,  it  follows 
that  we  have  to  try  to  mitigate  the  predatory 
animal  nuisance  by  trapping.  As  that,  however, 
gives  the  rodents  an  opportunity  to  increase,  since 
their  natural  enemies  are  destroyed,  in  con- 
sequence we  have  to  wage  continual  war  on  prairie 
dogs  and  the  like,  to  keep  the  balance  even.  This 
work  is  mainly  done  by  poisoning. 

"Now,  son,"  he  continued,  as  they  reached  the 
cabin,  "if  you'll  trot  out  whatever  grub  you  have 
ready,  we  '11  take  a  quick  lunch  and  then  I  '11  show 
you  exactly  how  to  make  that  scent  bait.  After 
that,  I  must  make  tracks  for  the  XO.  But  if,  in 
your  trapping,  you  '11  observe  carefully  what  I  told 


THE  SMELL  TELEPHONE       169 

you,  do  everything  in  that  way  and  no  other,  never 
neglect  the  slightest  precaution,  and  make  your 
sets  at  scratching-places  or  smell-telephone  sta- 
tions, you  can  count  on  success  three  times  out  of 
four,  and  you'll  clear  this  section  of  coyotes." 

' 'I  want  to  do  that,"  said  the  boy,  "because  I've 
rather  pledged  myself  to,"  and  he  explained  the 
arrangement  that  he  had  made  with  the  ranch 
boss,  with  regard  to  the  feeding  of  his  bunch  of 
cattle. 

The  expert  nodded. 

"Good,"  he  said.  "And  what's  more,  Gavan, 
when  I  see  McLeod,  our  grizzly-bear  hunter,  at  the 
camp  to-morrow,  I'll  tell  him  that  I've  given  you 
permission  to  visit  and  stay  at  the  camp  a  while 
this  fall  and  that  he's  to  tell  you  all  he  knows. 
It's  no  use  leaving  your  trip  until  too  late,  though, 
because,  as  you  know,  the  winter  snows  are  so 
heavy  on  the  Sangre  de  Cristo  that  trapping  can't 
be  carried  on.  The  lines  are  too  long  and  the 
country  too  rough  to  be  handled  on  snowshoes, 
while  the  drifts  are  too  deep  for  a  pony.  You 
don't  know  much  about  bears,  do  you?" 

"No,  sir,"  answered  the  boy. 

"I  thought  not.  Well,  Gavan,  bears  are  even 
harder  to  savvy  and  to  trap  than  coyotes.  The 


170    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

Indians  say  that  the  coyote  is  a  sk}  spirit  having 
a  little  fun,  and  that  a  black  bear  is  a  mis- 
chievous paleface  boy  in  a  fur  overcoat,  but,  if 
that's  so,  I  reckon  the  paleface  boy  has  a  heap 
more  brains  than  the  Indian's  fun-seeking  sky 
spirit.  Coyote-trapping  is  just  good  practice,  but 
bear  takes  real  thinking.  Maybe,  sometime,  you 
may  be  able  to  graduate  into  the  most  difficult 
field  of  all  trapping. ' ' 

"What's  that,  sir?"  asked  the  boy. 

"The  gray  wolf,  son,"  answered  the  expert, 
leaning  down  from  his  pony  to  shake  hands. 
"Keep  at  it,  and  some  of  these  days  you'll  reach 
the  pinnacle  of  your  profession  and  trap  an  outlaw 
lobo." 

Gavan  looked  up  quickly. 

"There's  one  thing  harder  than  that,  sir,"  he 
said. 

This  time  it  was  the  turn  of  the  expert  to  be 
interested. 

"And  what's  that?"  he  said. 

"Trapping  a  werewolf,  sir,"  the  boy  replied. 


CHAPTER  VI 


THANKS  to  a  willingness  to  learn  and  to  an  exact 
following  out  of  the  instruction  of  the  Biological 
Survey  official,  Gavan  became  so  expert  at  trap- 
ping coyotes,  that  the  Indians  of  the  near-by 
pueblo,  with  many  of  whom  the  bey  was 
good  friends,  nicknamed  him  "Coyote- Smeller." 
Whereas,  before,  he  had  thought  himself  lucky 
if  he  only  caught  a  coyote  a  week,  now  he  consid- 
ered himself  clumsy  if  he  failed  to  get  at  least  one 
a  day. 

It  was  not  only  that  Gavan  had  become  a  good 
coyote-trapper,  but  he  had  learned  a  still  more  im- 
portant lesson,  that  failure  was  not  a  matter  of 
luck  but  of  skill.  Formerly,  he  blamed  that  blind 
force  known  as  chance  for  his  failures,  whereas 
now  he  blamed  his  own  lack  of  skill  and  set  him- 
self to  find  out  the  "why"  of  every  trap  set  that 
failed  to  bring  results. 

The  ranch  boss  of  the  XO,  so  far  as  his  grim 
171 


172    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

nature  would  permit,  was  very  enthusiastic  over 
the  successes  of  his  "ward,"  as  he  delighted  in 
speaking  of  Gavan.  There  had  been  considerable 
loss  on  the  XO  Ranch  during  the  late  autumn, 
after  the  berries  had  gone,  but  the  coyotes  were 
not  held  responsible  for  this.  Bear  sign  was 
plentiful,  and  McLeod,  rather  than  Gavan,  was 
the  one  to  worry.  The  increase  of  Gavan 's  herd 
had  been  entirely  satisfactory,  and  the  boy  had 
not  lost  a  single  calf  or  yearling  from  his  little 
bunch. 

Late  in  the  fall,  Gavan,  going  over  his  trap 
line,  found  in  one  of  his  Newhouse  No.  3  's,  a  large 
stout,  broad  and  flat  animal,  with  a  depressed  and 
clumsy-looking  body,  short  stout  legs,  bear-like 
feet,  with  five  clearly  marked  toes  armed  with 
powerful  curved  claws.  Although  the  boy  had 
never  seen  the  animal  before,  the  claws  told  the 
story.  They  were  too  long  and  too  powerful 
merely  to  be  used  for  attack  or  defense. 
Obviously,  they  were  digging  claws.  Equally 
obviously,  the  animal  was  a  badger,  not  the  true 
silver-gray  badger  with  the  white  face  of  the 
western  grass-plains,  but  the  smaller,  yellower, 
and  more  vicious  Mexican  species,  which  makes 
its  home  in  the  sage-brush  plains. 


IN  A  WILD  BEAST'S  DEN       173 

As  always,  when  in  doubt,  Gavan  made  his  way 
to  Quick  Feather. 

1 1 What  ought  I  to  do  about  it,  Quick  Feather?" 
he  asked.  "Set  him  free,  or  kill  him?  Is  the 
pelt  any  good  for  fur?" 

The  Indian  shook  his  head. 

"Southern  badger  no  good,"  he  said;  "only 
northern  badger  in  the  middle  of  winter  is  good 
fur.  But  I  buy  him  from  you." 

"What  for?"  asked  the  boy. 

1  *  I  buy  him, ' '  the  Indian  repeated.  ' '  I  give  you 
a  dollar  for  him." 

"I  don't  want  your  money,  Quick  Feather," 
Gavan  answered.  "You've  done  a  thousand  dif- 
ferent favors  for  me.  Of  course  you  can  have 
the  skin!  I'll  knock  him  on  the  head  and  bring 
you  the  pelt  to-morrow,  because  I  suppose  you 
want  to  tan  the  hide  with  brains,  in  the  Indian 
way." 

"No  kill  him,"  the  Indian  replied.  "I  come 
myself  and  get  him  from  trap.  I  pay  you  that 
dollar,  just  same." 

"No,"  said  Gavan,  decidedly. 

"I  buy  badger,"  persisted  the  Indian.  "I  give 
you  two  bits,  if  no  want  dollar." 

Gavan  hesitated.     He  knew  that  Quick  Feather 


174    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

would  not  be  so  insistent  unless  there  were  some 
reason  for  it,  and  the  boy  had  had  enough  ex- 
perience with  Indians  to  know  that  no  white  man 
ever  understands  more  than  about  one-half  of  the 
things  his  red  friends  may  be  thinking. 

"All  right,"  he  said,  "if  you  want  to  give  two 
bits  for  the  critter,  come  along.  You  want  to  have 
him  alive?" 

"I  want  him  in  trap,"  the  Indian  persisted. 

"He  won't  make  much  of  a  pet,"  rejoined  the 
lad,  thinking  of  the  cruelly  long  claws. 

"I  want  him  in  trap,"  persisted  Quick  Feather, 
and  went  out  to  throw  a  saddle  blanket  on  his 
pony. 

Gavan  said  no  more,  and  the  two  rode  silently 
together  along  the  well-worn  trail  between  the 
pueblo  and  the  boy's  little  adobe  cabin. 

Arrived  at  the  trap,  Quick  Feather's  actions 
became  mysterious.  He  took  from  the  bosom  of 
his  shirt  a  long  piece  of  cloth,  and  a  handful  of 
leaves.  Then,  unfastening  his  saddle  blanket,  he 
threw  it  over  the  badger,  effectively  preventing 
the  animal  from  using  teeth  and  claws. 

Then,  holding  the  badger  on  the  ground  with  his 
knees,  Quick  Feather  released  the  animal  from  the 


IN  A  WILD  BEAST'S  DEN       175 

trap  and,  taking  the  long  piece  of  cloth,  proceeded 
to  bandage  the  badger's  leg,  where  it  had  been 
caught  by  the  trap,  using  the  leaves  as  a  medicinal 
dressing.  The  wounds  were  not  serious,  for  the 
badger  has  a  stouter  leg  than  any  animal  of  its 
size,  even  bigger  than  that  of  the  stocky  Canada 
lynx,  and  beside,  a  badger's  hide  is  one  of  the 
toughest  known  to  natural  history. 

"Get  in  the  saddle,"  he  said  to  Gavan,  when 
this  was  finished. 

Then,  as  soon  as  the  boy  was  seated.  Quick 
Feather  whipped  the  covering  from  off  the  body 
of  the  badger,  slung  the  blanket  on  his  pony,  and, 
old  though  he  was,  mounted  with  one  spring. 

It  was  easy  to  see  why. 

The  Mexican  badger,  foaming  at  the  lips  with 
rage,  snapped  viciously.  The  ponies,  like  most 
western  horses,  able  to  take  care  of  themselves, 
jumped  back. 

Then  the  Indian,  leaning  over  the  infuriated 
animal,  chanted  a  score  of  words  in  his  own 
tongue,  and,  without  another  backward  look, 
turned  his  horse  away,  leaving  the  badger  free. 
He  took  a  buckskin  bag  from  his  pocket,  handed 
Gavan  the  25  cents  that  had  been  agreed  upon, 


176    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

wrapped  his  white  sheet  around  his  head  and 
shoulders  so  that  only  his  eyes  showed,  and  rode 
back  solemnly  along  the  trail. 

When  a  sufficient  length  of  time  had  passed, 
Gavan,  who  had  been  burning  with  curiosity, 
blurted  out, 

"What  did  you  do  that  for,  Quick  Feather! 
Is  the  Badger  good  medicine?" 

"Badger  is  good  medicine  to  me,"  the  Indian 
answered;  "I  will  tell  you. 

"When  I  young  boy,  I  play  often  with  another 
boy.  He  son  of  my  father's  sister." 

"Why,  you  mean  the  one  who  is  lieutenant- 
governor  of  the  pueblo  now?"  asked  Gavan,  for 
he  was  almost  as  well  acquainted  with  the  politics 
of  the  pueblo  as  with  the  affairs  of  the  State — 
yes,  even  better. 

"No,"  the  Indian  answered,  "brother  of  lieu- 
tenant-governor. Medicine  man." 

The  boy  understood  the  life  of  the  Pueblo 
Indians  sufficiently  to  know  that  this  latter  posi- 
tion did  not  mean  as  much  as  it  would  among  the 
hunting  tribes,  such  as  the  Sioux.  The  pueblo 
government  is  very  completely  organized.  The 
governor  and  the  lieutenant-governor  are  respon- 
sible for  the  relation  of  the  pueblo  to  the  U.  S. 


IN  A  WILD  BEAST'S  DEN        177 

Government  and  to  the  outside  world,  the  chief 
(a  life  position  by  election)  is  in  charge  of  tribal 
affairs  such  as  the  various  secret  societies  and 
is  the  historian  of  the  tribe;  the  Priest,  a 
hereditary  position,  controls  all  the  ceremonial 
dances  and  is  the  repository  of  tribal  secrets,  and 
the  council,  consisting  of  the  ex-governors  and  ex- 
lieutenant-governors  (whose  terms  of  office  are 
only  for  one  year)  looks  after  the  cleanliness  and 
order  of  the  pueblo. 

No  modern  American  city  can  compare  for  a 
moment  with  the  cleanliness  and  care  of  an  Indian 
pueblo.  No  New  England  kitchen  is  in  the  same 
class  with  the  interior  of  a  pueblo  house.  The 
council,  also,  acts  as  a  judicial  tribunal  for  minor 
offenses.  The  medicine  men  are  the  doctors  of 
the  pueblo,  though  their  importance  has  greatly 
diminished  since  the  U.  S.  Government  has  ap- 
pointed a  doctor  to  each  pueblo.  Among  the  older 
men  and  women,  however,  the  medicine  man  is 
consulted  more  freely  than  the  white  doctor. 

"When  I  small,"  continued  Quick  Feather, 
"I  play  arrow  and  hoop  with  boy,  he  different 
from  me.  Different  from  all  other  boys.  In 
middle  of  game,  he  cry  'I  see  bird!'  or  'I  see  bat!' 
Eight  away  he  follow  that  bird,  or  bat,  or  wolf." 


178    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

"How  old  were  you  then?"  asked  Gavan. 

"Seven  years,"  the  Indian  answered.  "One 
morning,  playing  hoop  and  arrow,  Boy  called, 

"  'I  see  sage-grouse!' 

"Like  always  he  ran  off  to  follow. 

"Night  came.  Boy  not  back  in  pueblo.  Next 
day,  Boy  not  back  in  pueblo.  Not  back  next  day. 
Chief  say  Boy  dead.  My  father's  sister  said: 

"  'No,  not  dead.  Boy  friend  of  spirits  of 
animals.  Spirits  of  animals  watch  him.  Boy  will 
come  back. ' 

"One  Indian  in  pueblo,  my  father's  s::ter  not 
like.  He  fond  of  firewater  too  much,  think  town 
better  than  pueblo.  Tom,  bad  Indian.1  Soon 
after  Boy  lost,  Tom,  coming  back  to  pueblo  from 
hunt,  saw  two  badgers.  Often  seen  Badger  before. 
This  time,  Badger  run  at  him,  instead  of  running 
away  into  hole. 

"Tom  rode  away.  Indian  not  kill  badgers,  be- 
cause badgers  eat  prairie-dogs,  gophers,  and  mice, 
which  spoil  crops.  Badger  good  friend  to  Indian. 

i  Nearly  all  the  Pueblo  Indians  are  Roman  Catholics,  and 
quite  devout.  They  are  most  of  them  baptized  and  given  Christian 
names.  Often,  one  Indian,  talking  of  another  he  does  not  like, 
will  give  his  white  name;  if  an  Indian  he  respects,  he  gives  the 
Indian  name. 


IN  A  WILD  BEAST'S  DEN       179 

Tom  think  hard  about  Badger  running  at  him. 
More  he  think,  more  angry  he  get.  Tom  decided 
to  kill  Badger. 

"Bad  thought.  Badger  no  harm  to  Tom.  To 
kill  for  food,  good;  to  kill  for  anger,  not  good. 

' '  Tom  go  back  to  den,  see  biggest  Badger,  shoot 
and  kill.  Tom  go  home,  pleased.  Good  Spirit 
not  pleased.  Hear! 

"Boy  had  followed  sage-grouse  until  dark, 
then  want  to  go  back  to  pueblo.  Too  far.  Boy 
young,  legs  tired.  Stomach  very  empty.  Too 
dark.  Boy  could  not  see  way.  Too  little  to  know 
stars.  Boy  lie  down  on  ground,  go  to  sleep. 

"Next  morning,  Boy  find  Badger  sniffing  round 
him.  Boy  friend  to  spirits  of  animals,  know 
Badger  friendly,  stay  and  play  with  Badger. 
Boy  very  tired  and  weak.  By  and  by,  Badger 
go  away,  come  back  with  eggs  of  grouse,  carry- 
ing eggs  unbroken  in  mouth. 

"Boy  understand,  break  and  suck  eggs. 

"Then  Badger,  making  little  grunts,  shuffle 
down  hill.  Boy  understand  spirits  of  animals,  fol- 
low. Hundred  paces  away,  little  spring.  Boy 
drink  long  time,  very  thirsty. 

"Boy  want  to  go  back  pueblo.     Too  tired  and 


i8o    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

weak.  Two  grouse  eggs  very  little  food  for 
hungry  boy,  so  went  back  badger  den,  fall  asleep 
on  ground  by  den. 

"Boy  asleep,  Badger  claw  at  walls  of  den  until 
hole  big  enough  for  boy  to  crawl  in.  Boy  sleep 
till  sun  high  in  sky.  When  Boy  wake,  piece  of 
wild  bee  honeycomb  near  him.  Boy  eat  honey- 
comb, go  to  spring,  take  another  drink. 

"Again  Boy  look  far  away  to  blue  mountains 
where  pueblo.  Boy  understand  spirits  of  animals, 
now  know  Badger  very  lonely.  Badger's  spirit 
tell  him  all  Badger's  little  babies  dead,  killed  by 
wash-out.  Boy  very  sorry  for  Badger. 

"You  think  animals  cannot  talk?"  continued 
Quick  Feather,  noting  a  look  of  incredulity  on 
Ga  van's  face.  "You  talk  with  your  eyes,  with 
your  hands,  with  jumps  of  body!" 

And  he  went  on  with  the  story. 

"Boy  need  more  to  eat  than  baby  badgers. 
Boy  not  like  mice  and  beetles  brought  by  Badger. 
Once  Badger  brought  young  chicken.  Boy  ate 
raw.  Boy  learned,  by  and  by,  to  eat  squirrel 
raw. 

"Boy  live  with  Badger  from  young  moon  to  old 
moon. 

"One  day,  Tom,  riding  near  where  killed  old 


IN  A  WILD  BEAST'S  DEN       181 

Badger,  see  near  Badger  den,  something  moving, 
bigger  than  Badger.  Tom,  bad  Indian,  but  not 
coward.  Ride  up  close. 

"Tom  see  Boy.  Tom  know  Indians  of  pueblo 
hunt  boy  long  time.  Tom  speak  to  Boy,  but  Boy 
hiss  and  snarl  like  Badger  and  creep  backwards 
into  den. 

"Tom  very  vain,  want  to  have  other  Indians 
praise  him  for  finding  Boy.  Beach  into  den  after 
Boy,  grab  by  hair  of  head,  pull  him  out,  Badger 
following  very  angry.  Tom  not  wait  for  Badger, 
sling  Boy  in  front  of  saddle,  leap  on  pony.  Boy 
hit  and  bit  with  teeth,  but  Tom  run  pony  hard  to 
pueblo. 

"Boy  back  in  pueblo,  shadow  on  Boy's  spirit. 
Not  say  a  word,  not  play.  Boy  speak  no  Indian, 
only  hiss  and  snarl  like  Badger,  even  at  own 
mother.  Spirit  of  boy  with  spirit  of  Badger,  only 
body  of  Boy  in  pueblo. 

"Two  days  after,  Tom  take  gun  and  shovel  to 
den  of  Badger.  Start  to  dig,  Badger  rush  out. 
Tom  shoot  her.  Then  Tom  ride  back  to  pueblo, 
holding  up  dead  Badger. 

"Boy  see  dead  Badger,  cry  out,  using  words 
for  first  time,  since  return, 

"  '  My  Badger !    Oh,  my  Badger ! ' 


i8a    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

"Boy  rush  on  Tom  and  attack  viciously,  with 
teeth  and  nails.  Tom  run  to  house.  Tom  very 
angry  when  Indians  laugh  at  him  running  away 
from  Boy. 

"Then  Boy  fall  on  ground,  in  illness  so  bad, 
white  Government  doctor  say  Boy  will  not  live. 
But  Chief  tell  medicine  men  to  make  Badger  medi- ' 
cine  and  wrap  skin  of  Badger  round  Boy.  Long 
illness  but  Boy  get  better.  Now,  one  of  medicine 
man  of  pueblo.  You  know  him.  Very  silent. 
Chief  says  he  talks  much  with  spirits  of  animals.1 

"That  why,  Gavan,  no  Taos  Indian  will  kill 
badger,  but  do  all  possible  to  make  badger  free." 

"But  why  do  you  want  to  buy  him?"  asked 
Gavan.  "Why  wouldn't  you  let  me  give  him  to 
you?" 

"I  not  bought,"  was  Quick  Feather's  reply, 
"you  would  set  badger  free,  not  I." 

"Yes,"  said  the  boy,  slowly;  "I  see  that.    And 

i  This  amazing  story  is  actually  true  in  every  detail,  save 
that  the  boy  in  question  was  white,  not  Indian.  The  lad's 
name  was  Harry  Service,  and  the  incident  occurred  at  Bord's 
Hill,  Manitoba,  Canada.  The  hated  neighbor  was  named  Gro- 
gan.  The  author  of  this  book  was  well  acquainted  with  the  Very 
Rev.  Dean  Matheson,  who  investigated  the  occurrence  and  who 
knew  the  Service  family  personally.  It  is,  so  ftv  as  the  author 
is  aware,  the  only  authenticated  case  of  its  kind  on  record.  Fuller 
details  may  be  found  in  Seton  Thompson's  valuable  work,  "Life- 
Histories  of  Northern  Animals." 


IN  A  WILD  BEAST'S  DEN       183 

an  Indian  won't  kill  a  beast  who  has  helped  any 
of  the  tribe." 

"Good  Spirit,"  the  Indian  declared,  "give 
animals  to  man  for  use.  Good  Spirit  angry  if 
animal  killed  by  man  for  no  use.  To  eat,  yes ;  to 
wear  skin,  yes ;  to  protect  from  evil,  yes ;  to  have 
for  religious  dances,  yes;  but  to  kill,  like  white 
man,  for  sport,  Indian  says  not  worthy  of  grown- 
up man.  Sport  only  vanity,  only  to  boast. 
Indian  not  like  boasting.  Only  harmless  animal 
Taos  Indian  will  kill  is  skunk." 

"Why  is  that?"  asked  the  boy.  "Just  because 
of  the  awful  smell?" 

Quick  Feather  nodded. 

"Long  time  ago,"  he  said,  "very  little  boy,  did 
not  know  Skunk,  played  with  Skunk.  Pulled  tail. 
Skunk  turned,  shot  bad  medicine  water  into  little 
boy's  face.  Little  boy  laughing,  mouth  open. 
Bad  medicine  water  go  into  little  boy's  lungs,  he 
choke  to  death."1 

"And  yet,"  declared  Gavan,  "skunk  farms  are 
increasing  in  numbers  every  year.  Mr.  Winon 

i  This  is  an  authenticated  fact.  The  incident  happened  in  Wis- 
consin, in  the  year  1902.  There  are  two  cases  of  total  blindness 
occurring  from  the  liquid  squirted  by  a  skunk  entering  the  eyes, 
and  many  cases  of  temporary  blindness  of  long  duration.  Crea- 
tures of  the  wild  uniformly  leave  the  skunk  strictly  alone. 


1 84     WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

told  me  that  over  two  million  skunk  skins  are 
received  by  fur  dealers  annually,  and  over  three 
millions  of  dollars  are  paid  out  for  the  raw  furs. 
Mink  is  the  only  fur  which  exceeds  the  skunk  in 
importance,  among  American  furs,  and  musk-rat 
comes  a  close  second. 

"Now  that  the  country  is  getting  civilized  and 
all  the  wild  fur-bearing  animals  have  been 
trapped,  most  of  the  furs  will  have  to  be  raised 
on  farms.  Of  course,  if  one  could  raise  silver 
or  black  fox,  that  would  mean  a  lot  of  money,  but 
you  can  only  do  that  in  the  very  far  north  and 
on  big  island,  for  fox  will  not  grow  good  fur  if 
they  are  kept  in  a  small  place.  That's  why  most 
of  the  fur  farms  in  the  United  States  are  for 
skunk. ' ' 

The  Indian  made  an  aggressive  gesture. 

"White  man,"  he  said,  "travel  every  trail 
where  dollar  grows." 

Gavan  made  no  answer  to  this  statement, 
though  feeling  it  unjust  to  the  many  growers  of 
fur-bearing  animals,  who  must  needs  work  very 
hard  and  under  disagreeable  conditions  to  make 
a  living  raising  furs  for  the  market.  Skunk- 
farming,  as  he  knew  by  reading  in  government 
bulletins,  is  a  legitimate  and  paying  business,  but 


IN  A  WILD  BEAST'S  DEN       185 

one  that  takes  judgment,  experience  and  plenty 
of  hard  work. 

Perhaps  as  much  as  any  other  one  factor,  Quick 
Feather's  badger  story  stirred  in  Gavan  the  de- 
sire to  know  and  understand  animals  better.  The 
work  on  his  farm,  the  assistance  which  he  had 
to  give  on  the  XO  ranch  and  the  requirements 
of  his  trap  line  took  up  all  his  time,  and  it  was 
with  the  utmost  difficulty  that  he  managed  to  get 
up  for  three  days  with  McLeod  in  the  grizzly- 
bear  hunting  camp.  There  he  realized  how  much 
he  had  to  learn  and  arranged  to  spend  a  part  of 
the  following  summer  at  the  camp. 

The  beginning  of  winter  brought  a  surprise. 
The  sheriff,  from  whom  the  boy  had  heard  little 
during  the  summer,  suddenly  appeared  at  the 
ranch,  inviting  Gavan  to  come  into  town  and 
spend  the  winter  with  him.  It  would  give  the  lad 
an  opportunity  to  go  to  school,  and,  so  far  as  the 
ranch  was  concerned,  the  sheriff  guaranteed  that 
no  one  would  touch  it. 

"Keep  your  trap  line  goin'  until  the  snows 
come,"  Hunch  advised,  "an',  in  the  meantime, 
get  up  all  your  hay  an'  deliver  it  to  the  XO. 
Don't  worry  about  your  irrigation  ditches,  the 
people  around  here  have  found  out  that  you've  got 


1 86    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

friends  enough  to  see  that  you  get  your  rights. 
Next  spring,  when  the  mountain  trails  become 
passable  again,  you  can  get  back  to  your  work, 
an',  as  Mr.  Winon  said,  you'll  do  well  to  spend 
some  time  with  McLeod  on  bear  trappin'. 
I  tell  you  frankly,  that  if  you  can  shape  up  right, 
I  think  there's  a  great  chance  for  you  to  make 
good.  There's  no  doubt  that  the  Biological  Sur- 
vey needs  trained  men,  and  you've  made  a  first- 
class  start." 

So  Gavan  came  into  the  little  Mexican  town  of 
Taos  for  the  winter,  and  having  the  sheriff  and 
the  Forest  Supervisor  among  his  staunch  friends, 
he  found  all  doors  hospitably  open  to  him.  His 
alliance  with  Quick  Feather,  moreover,  gave  him 
the  friendship  of  the  Indians  at  the  pueblo,  distant 
only  three  miles  from  the  town. 

The  cattle  he  had  sold  had  brought  him  a  fair 
price  and  the  hay  crop  had  been  good.  For  the 
first  time  in  his  life,  Gavan  was  able  to  pay  for 
everything  he  needed  with  money  that  he  himself 
had  earned,  one  of  the  most  satisfactory  feelings 
which  any  lad  can  possess. 

The  snows  came  on  the  peaks  of  the  Sangre  de 
Cristo  Mountains  and  stayed  there,  revealing  how 
fully  they  deserved  the  name  that  the  Spaniards 


Courtesy  of  "  Outing  "  Magazine. 

FOLLOWING  up  THE  TRAIL. 

The  snow  is  a  blank  record  on  which  the  tracks  of  woods-folk  write  the 
stories  of  their  lives. 


IN  A  WILD  BEAST'S  DEN       187 

had  given  them  centuries  ago.  The  setting  sun, 
glowing  red  over  the  distant  Jemez  Mountains, 
and  the  still  more  distant  ranges  of  the  mountains 
of  Arizona,  flamed  across  hundreds  of  miles  of  re- 
flecting sage-brush  plain  to  strike  full  on  the  lofty 
ridges  of  the  Sangre  de  Cristo,  which  are  almost 
as  high  as  the  world-famous  Alps,  and  which 
shoot  suddenly  upwards  from  the  level  plateau. 

Then  winter  slowly  waned.  Tom  Creek,  Pot 
Creek,  the  Little  Rio  Grande,  the  Rio  Chiquito 
and  the  rest  of  the  mountain  streams  began  to 
thunder  down  with  the  melting  snows.  A  slightly 
lighter  green  began  to  appear  upon  the  slopes, 
suggesting  that  the  blue  conifers  were  not  to  have 
it  all  their  own  way  any  longer,  and  Gavan  went 
up  into  the  hills  to  catch  his  pony  which  had  been 
running  with  the  XO  band  all  winter,  and  to  pre- 
pare for  the  work  of  the  coming  spring. 

It  had  been  a  hard  winter.  The  snow  had  been 
deep  and  had  lasted  for  several  weeks.  Stock 
losses  had  been  heavy,  and,  what  was  worse,  the 
cattle  remaining  had  become  emaciated  and  lean. 
Few  ranches  could  afford  to  feed  hay  for  weeks 
at  a  time,  and  stockmen  looked  with  gloomy 
anticipation  on  probable  attacks  from  predatory 
animals  in  the  early  spring. 


i88     WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

"You  want  to  get  at  those  coyote  traps  mighty 
quick  an'  sudden,"  the  ranch  boss  of  the  XO 
warned  the  boy.  "The  way  the  cattle  are  now,  a 
couple  o'  coyotes  could  pull  a  yearlin'  down  like 
a  jack-rabbit.  They'll  be  hungry,  too,  an'  that'll 
make  it  worse." 

"I'm  going  to  get  the  traps  right  out,"  the  boy 
replied,  "and  I'll  do  all  I  can  to  clean  the  place 
up  of  coyotes." 

"If  you  do  as  well  as  you  did  last  fall,"  the 
other  assented,  though  grudgingly,  "no  one  ain't 
a-goin'  to  complain.  But  we're  already  in  the 
first  week  of  April,  son,  an'  some  of  the  earliest 
litters  are  already  whelped.  Mr.  Coyote  is  goin' 
to  start  runnin'  around,  pretty  soon,  lookin'  for 
food  for  his  new  family." 

"All  right,"  said  the  boy,  "I'll  try  to  fix  it 
so  that  we  get  him  and  the  family,  too.  I've 
trained  those  Airedales  you  gave  me  so  that 
they'll  not  only  chase  a  cold  coyote  trail,  but 
they'll  even  smell  out  a  coyote  den. 

"I'm  going  to  trap  all  I  can,  of  course,  Jack, 
but  for  the  next  few  weeks  I'm  going  to  give  most 
of  my  time  to  digging  out  the  dens.  You  get  the 
old  and  the  young  that  way,  and  they  never  have  a 
chance  to  grow  up  and  get  into  mischief." 


IN  A  WILD  BEAST'S  DEN       189 

11  That's  the  idee!"  declared  the  ranch  boss, 
slapping  Gavan  on  the  shoulder,  "  drive  the  last 
sneakin'  varmint  out  o'  the  country." 

Gavan  thought  of  the  Biological  Survey  ex- 
pert's ideas  concerning  extinction  and  control,  but, 
remembering  that  he  was  talking  to  a  stockman, 
he  wisely  held  his  tongue. 

Acting  on  common  sense,  rather  than  merely 
on  orders,  at  the  very  opening  of  spring,  Gavan 
used  some  bait  sets,  rightly  figuring  that  the  de- 
mands of  a  new-born  family  would  make  the  male 
coyote  especially  anxious  for  food,  and  render  the 
food  lure  more  important  than  the  scent  lure. 
In  this  he  was  right,  and  for  a  week  or  two,  the 
boy's  bait  sets  caught  coyote  after  coyote.  Then, 
as  might  be  expected,  the  coyotes  became  wise 
and  wary,  and  the  orthodox  trapping  by  scent 
was  resumed. 

Gavan,  however,  had  not  forgotten  the  promise 
to  the  ranch  boss  that  he  would  not  confine  him- 
self exclusively  to  trapping.  Digging  the  pups 
out  in  the  spring,  when  possible,  is  of  the  highest 
destructive  value.  Often  enough,  the  digging 
meant  tough  work,  for  the  soil  in  the  valleys  of 
the  streams  that  run  down  the  Sangre  de  Cristo 
range  is  rocky  and  full  of  stones.  Many  a  time 


190    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

did  the  dogs  locate  a  den  which  Gavan  would  be 
compelled  to  leave  intact.  The  opening  would  be 
too  small  for  the  dogs  to  enter  and  the  ground 
would  be  too  rock-bound  to  yield  to  pick  and 
shovel. 

There  was  one  den,  in  particular,  which  Gavan 
was  anxious  to  dig  out.  It  belonged  to  an  old 
male  coyote  that  Gavan  had  marked  many  a  time, 
but  which  had  been  successful  in  evading  all  his 
traps.  He  knew  it  was  the  same  den,  for  the 
coyote  is  a  faithful  little  animal  and  has  but  one 
wife.  Whatever  the  fidelity  of  this  coyote  might 
be,  of  one  thing  the  boy  was  sure,  and  that  was 
that,  as  a  husband,  he  was  a  good  provider. 
Three  calves,  at  least,  the  boy  was  convinced  he 
had  traced  to  this  particular  marauder. 

Gavan  had  begun  to  realize — between  the  teach- 
ing of  the  Biological  Survey  expert  and  that  of 
Quick  Feather — that  it  is  useless  merely  to  learn 
what  a  certain  species  of  wild  animal  will  do.  It 
is  well  enough  to  understand  the  habits  of  coyotes, 
in  general.  It  is  further  necessary  to  understand 
the  habits  of  each  coyote  in  particular. 

1  'All  coyotes  not  alike,  all  Indians  not  alike," 
Quick  Feather  had  explained  to  him  one  day.  "I 
like  deer  meat,  you  like  mutton.  Coyote  same. 


IN  A  WILD  BEAST'S  DEN       191 

Some  eat  antelope,  some  eat  skunk,  some  eat  lamb. 
Sometimes,  Coyote  eat  watermelon,  often  eat 
juniper-berries  and  fruit  of  prickly-pear.  Good 
coyote  and  bad  coyote.  Catch  bad  coyote,  he  no 
teach  bad  habits  to  others." 

This  particular  coyote,  then,  was  "bad  medi- 
cine." He  would  be  hard  to  catch,  that  Gavan 
knew,  for  he  was  a  wily  old  chap,  and  a  slight  ir- 
regularity in  his  track  suggested  that  he  had  once 
had  his  toes  pinched  in  a  trap,  though,  evidently 
none  of  them  wras  off.  But,  and  this  was  the  im- 
portant part  of  it,  if  this  killer  coyote  were  al- 
lowed to  bring  up  a  family,  not  only  would  those 
pups  inherit  the  father's  tastes,  but  they  would 
also  have  the  benefit  of  the  father's  education, 
both  in  the  matter  of  killing  calves  and  in  the 
matter  of  dodging  traps.  One  trained  family  of 
killers  might  do  more  harm  on  the  range  than 
twice  or  three  times  the  number  of  coyotes  who 
stuck  to  the  staple  food  of  prairie  dog  and  jack- 
rabbit  and  only  took  an  occasional  flyer  into  the 
high  living  of  domestic  animals. 

Accordingly,  very  early  one  morning,  Gavan 
started  out  for  this  coyote  den,  which  was 
situated  quite  high  up  on  a  rocky  slope,  carrying 
with  him  not  only  a  shovel  and  a  pickax,  but  also 


192    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

an  iron  bar  which  could  be  made  to  serve  as  a 
crowbar.  He  determined  within  himself  that  he 
was  going  to  get  those  pups,  if  he  had  to  dig  a 
tunnel  half-way  into  the  mountain.  He  had 
already  tried  to  get  in,  and  failed,  so  that  he  knew 
the  stiffness  of  the  task  that  lay  before  him. 

"If  I  only  had  a  stick  or  two  of  dynamite  or 
blasting  powder!"  he  exclaimed,  when,  after  a 
couple  of  hours'  work,  he  had  succeeded  only  in 
loosening  a  few  of  the  larger  stones  that  were 
wedged  in. 

Another  hour's  work  uncovered  the  principal 
obstacle.  The  hole  to  the  den  ran  in  between  two 
stones.  At  first  the  boy  thought  that  they  were 
part  of  the  original  structure  of  the  mountain  and 
was  about  to  give  it  up  as  a  bad  job,  but  the 
thought  occurred  to  him  to  examine  the  stones, 
and  he  saw  by  their  structure  and  the  fact  that 
the  grains  were  not  parallel  in  the  two  pieces 
that  they  could  not  have  been  deposited  that  way, 
but  must  be  huge  pieces  of  rock  rolled  down 
from  the  top  of  the  mountain  by  the  forces  of 
erosion. 

"If  they  moved  once,  they  can  move  again!" 
declared  Gavan,  and  set  himself  anew  to  his  task. 

An  hour's  probing  revealed  the  fact  that  the 


IN  A  WILD  BEAST'S  DEN       193 

lower  one  was  immovable.  How  large  it  might 
be,  the  boy  had  no  means  of  guessing.  At  least, 
everywhere  he  probed  with  his  crowbar,  he  found 
the  same  stone.  The  upper  one  was  more  hope- 
giving.  It  was  not  as  large  as  the  other,  though 
far  too  large  to  be  moved.  Even  if  Gavan  had 
been  able  to  clear  away  the  earth  from  all  round 
the  stone,  his  strength  would  not  have  been 
enough  to  lift  it  upwards  so  as  to  enlarge  the 
opening  into  the  den. 

Another  idea  occurred  to  him.  Instead  of  try- 
ing to  move  the  stone,  could  he  chip  part  of  it 
away?  He  could  reach  into  the  den  as  far  as  the 
length  of  his  arm  and  he  found  that  the  interior 
both  sloped  downwards  and  upwards,  forming  a 
cave  that  would  be  big  enough  for  him  to  crawl 
in,  provided  that  once  he  could  negotiate  the  open- 
ing. Perhaps  the  crowbar  could  be  used  as  a 
sledge.  He  poised  the  crowbar  and  slung  it, 
loosely  grasped,  against  the  stone. 

A  chip  flew  off. 

Gavan  shouted  with  triumph.  This  was  the 
way,  then !  It  would  take  time,  but  the  boy  knew 
that  if  the  female  wolf  was  in  the  den  she  would 
not  come  out,  and  the  pups  could  not  escape,  any- 
way. 


i94    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

When  lunch-time  came,  the  hole  was  twice  its 
original  size,  and  Gavan  could  get  his  head  and 
one  shoulder  in,  but  not  quite  the  other.  An- 
other hour's  work  would  accomplish  it,  without 
doubt.  This  continuous  hammering  on  the  stone, 
however,  loosened  it  to  a  considerable  extent,  so 
that  it  rocked  slightly.  Gavan  stopped  to  ponder 
for  a  moment,  whether  he  ought  to  return  to  his 
original  plan  of  trying  to  loosen  the  position 
of  the  stone,  then  decided  not.  The  hole  was 
nearly  big  enough  for  him,  as  it  was. 

Rugged  perseverance  will  accomplish  the  seem- 
ingly impossible,  and  by  three  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon, the  hole  was  big  enough. 

Gavan  prepared  to  enter  the  coyote's  den. 

He  was  not  Afraid,  for  he  knew  that  a  coyote 
is  one  of  the  most  cowardly  animals  on  earth. 
At  the  same  time,  it  was  not  wise  to  be  reckless. 
Even  a  coyote  mother,  if  she  had  cubs,  might  fight, 
and,  as  the  Indian  had  warned  him  over  and  over 
again, 

"No  animal  same  as  other  animal.  No  two 
alike!" 

So  Gavan  took  his  little  electric  lamp  from  his 
pocket,  pushed  the  spring  and  thrust  it  into  the 
entrance  of  the  den.  Then,  drawing  his  six- 


IN  A  WILD  BEAST'S  DEN       195 

shooter  and  holding  it  in  his  hand,  he  propelled 
himself  forward  into  the  den  as  though  he  were 
diving. 

The  entrance  was  very  narrow.  It  was  a  tight 
squeeze,  but  his  head  and  shoulders  got  in. 

The  den  was  deeper  than  he  thought.  Gavan 
could  hear  the  faint  squealing  of  the  little  pups, 
evidently,  by  the  sound,  only  two  or  three  yards 
in  from  where  he  was  crouching.  He  flashed  the 
light  from  side  to  side,  but  a  large  pebble  lying 
half-way  down  and  partly  choking  his  further 
passage,  also  obstructed  his  view.  The  pebble 
was  not  too  large  to  be  moved,  and,  thoughtlessly, 
Gavan  gave  a  wrench  and  moved  it  aside. 

As  he  did  so,  a  little  dust  rattled  down  on  his 
back  and  he  felt  something  from  above  touch  his 
hips. 

For  a  second  Ga van's  heart  stood  still. 

It  must  be  the  male  coyote,  the  killer! 

Then  sober  second  thought  returned.  No,  a 
coyote  would  never  try  to  push  past  a  man  trying 
to  enter  its  den. 

He  moved  his  leg  cautiously. 

The  truth  flashed  on  him. 

The  hole  by  which  he  had  entered  the  den  had 
become  smaller. 


196    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

In  moving  the  pebble  which  had  obstructed  his 
further  passage  into  the  den,  he  had  shifted  what 
had  acted  partly  as  a  prop  to  the  larger  stone, 
which  had  settled,  and  was  further  slowly  descend- 
ing so  as  to  close  the  hole. 

Frantically,  Gavan  tried  to  back  out.  He  could 
get  his  hips  and  legs  out,  he  could  get  out  as  far 
as  his  stomach,  but  the  ribs  would  not  pass,  and 
he  knew  that  if  the  ribs  would  not,  the  shoulders 
could  not. 

The  situation  was  grave.  No  one  knew  that 
he  was  there.  He  had  even  tied  the  dogs  fast 
before  he  left,  for  he  knew  that  he  would  be  work- 
ing all  day  at  this  hole. 

Pinned  like  an  animal  in  a  trap,  he  was  doomed 
to  die  the  same  death  that  he  had  given  so  many 
of  the  wild  folk. 

The  boy  struggled  back  desperately,  only  to  be- 
come convinced  that  every  mcve  loosened  the  stone 
above  him  and  rendered  escape  still  more  impos- 
sible. He  slid  forward  again,  as  gently  as  he 
could,  and,  in  so  doing,  saw  his  light  reflected 
in  two  pin-point  gleams  which  he  knew  must  be 
the  eyes  of  the  mother  coyote. 

There  was  no  harsh  or  cruel  gleam  in  those 


IN  A  WILD  BEAST'S  DEN       197 

eyes,  nothing  like  the  savage  yellow  gleam  of  the 
cougar,  for  the  coyote  has  soft,  gentle  brown  eyes 
which  are  in  striking  contrast  to  its  habits.  Just 
the  same,  Gavan  knew  enough  about  coyotes  to  be 
sure  that  those  soft  brown  eyes  could  be  trusted 
but  little.  As  long  as  he  was  alert,  the  cowardly 
coyote  would  slink  back  to  the  farthest  corner  of 
the  den,  and  even  allow  her  babies  to  be  taken. 
It  would  be  only  if  she  herself  felt  that  she  was 
in  danger  that  he  might  expect  that  quick  vicious 
snap  that  was  so  appalling  in  its  results. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  moment  that  the  coyote 
should  know  that  the  boy  was  weakening,  with  that 
curious  sense  possessed  by  the  wild  folk  which 
tells  them  instantly  of  the  mental  condition  of  a 
foe,  that  moment  the  coyote  might  risk  a  for- 
ward dash  and  a  snap. 

It  would  be  easy,  the  easiest  thing  in  the-  world, 
simply  to  shoot  the  coyote.  The  six-shooter  was 
ready,  the  light  reflected  in  the  animal's  eyes 
showed  him  exactly  where  to  fire. 

But  Gavan  dared  not  shoot. 

He  had,  inadvertently,  removed  the  big  pebble 
which  had  acted  as  a  prop  to  the  greater  stone 
overhead,  and  he  feared  that  if  he  fired  in  that 


198     WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

enclosed  space,  the  vibration  and  the  vacuum  com- 
bined would  further  loosen  the  stone  and  it  might 
fall  on  him- and  crush  him. 

He  took  his  revolver  by  the  barrel  and  crept 
on.  He  was  very  near  the  coyote,  now. 

There  was  not  much  room  to  reach  up,  but  with 
all  the  force  that  the  limited  space  would  allow 
Gavan  suddenly  thrust  forward  the  electric  light 
fair  into  the  animal's  eyes,  partly  for  the  purpose 
of  dazzling  it,  and  partly  so  that,  if  the  coyote 
should  snap,  it  should  snap  on  the  metal  of  the 
lamp.  Then,  with  the  other  hand,  he  brought  the 
butt  of  the  pistol  full  on  the  coyote's  head. 
There  was  not  room  enough  for  a  killing  blow, 
that  he  knew,  but  even  if  the  creature  should  be 
stunned  or  dazed  for  a  half  a  minute,  that  would 
suffice. 

The  coyote  half  rose  and  then  rolled  over. 

Quick  as  a  flash,  Gavan  wrenched  from  around 
his  neck  the  brightly-colored  handkerchief  that 
he  always  wore — in  admiring  imitation  of  the 
cowboys  of  the  XO — and,  grasping  the  coyote 
firmly  by  the  snout,  he  tied  the  jaws  firmly  to- 
gether. That  done,  he  breathed  more  easily. 
The  four  pups  he  also  knocked  on  the  head,  not 
because  their  teeth  were  long  enough  to  inflict 


IN  A  WILD  BEAST'S  DEN       199 

any  serious  injury,  but  because  even  the  slightest 
scratch  from  a  coyote's  teeth  is  a  good  thing  to 
avoid.  It  is  not  as  terribly  dangerous  as  a  scratch 
from  a  timber  wolf's  teeth,  which,  more  often 
than  not,  causes  death  from  blood  poisoning,  but 
still,  it  is  dangerous  enough. 

Then  Gavan  tried  to  turn  to  go  out.  He  twisted 
and  squirmed  and  tied  himself  up  in  all  kinds  of 
knots,  but  the  hole  was  too  small.  He  had  felt 
that  if  he  could  only  get  so  that  he  was  point- 
ing head  first  out  of  the  hole,  the  strength  of  back 
and  shoulders  might  enable  him  to  move  the  stone 
just  enough  for  him  to  wriggle  through.  But  it 
could  not  be  done.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but 
to  back  out  again,  and  try  to  force  himself  through 
the  hole  by  raising  the  stone  with  his  hips. 

So,  feet  foremost,  Gavan  backed  out  again  to 
the  entrance,  only  to  find  that  the  stone  had 
sagged  still  lower.  Feet  and  knees  passed 
through,  but  the  hips  were  a  tight  fit.  None  the 
less,  by  using  all  his  force,  Gavan  managed  to 
get  them  half  through. 

He  stopped,  panting,  to  take  breath. 

Then,  summoning  all  his  strength,  he  drew  his 
knees  closer  under  him  and  heaved  upwards. 

The  stone  moved. 


200    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

With  triumph  surging  through  him,  he  shot 
backwards,  sure  of  escape. 

But  the  stone  was  too  heavy,  and  the  very 
second  that  the  upward  pressure  was  relaxed,  it 
sagged  downwards  again,  catching  him  in  the 
small  of  the  back  and  the  pit  of  the  stomach. 

He  could  move  neither  forward  or  back. 

The  pressure  was  not  great,  but  the  sudden 
realization  that  he  was  trapped  even  more 
strongly  than  before,  was  unbearable.  He  wrig- 
gled fiercely,  insanely,  but  at  that  point  in  the 
body  there  is  little  muscular  force. 

Even  to  himself,  afterwards,  Gavan  was  loath 
to  admit  it,  but  at  this  point  panic  seized  him, 
and  he  screamed  and  struggled  blindly.  In  his 
frenzied  efforts  he  twisted  a  muscle  or  a  tendon, 
giving  him  a  sharp  pain  in  his  side,  and  partly 
from  the  fright  and  partly  from  the  pressure  of 
the  big  rock  on  his  intestines,  he  became  violently 
nauseated.  The  resultant  weakness,  hunger  and 
thirst  brought  on  a  stupor,  into  which  the  boy 
sank  as  evening  came  on. 

He  was  roused,  towards  dark,  by  some  animal 
tugging  at  his  leg.  Dimly  and  hopelessly,  he 
muttered, 

' 'That's  the  male  wolf,  come  back!" 


IN  A  WILD  BEAST'S  DEN       201 

It  was  a  horrible  sensation,  feeling  that  a  wild 
animal  would  chew  his  leg  slowly  at  leisure,  tear- 
ing away  flesh  and  muscles  while  he  was  still  alive, 
pinned  under  the  rock  and  unable  to  do  anything. 
But  the  tugging  continued. 

At  first  Gavan  assigned  his  freedom  from  a 
tearing  wound  to  the  tough  leather  chapparejos 
or  "shapps"  that  he  wore,  a  necessary  part  of  his 
outfit  when  riding  through  the  rough  mountain 
country,  where  gnarled  bushes  scraped  all  the  time 
against  his  legs  as  he  rode,  and  where  the  trail 
was  so  narrow  between  the  close-growing  quak- 
ing aspens,  that,  unless  he  were  thus  protected,  an 
injury  to  the  kneecap  was  more  than  probable. 

But  a  few  minutes'  reflection,  even  though  it 
was  the  workings  of  a  brain  sick,  wrenched  and 
despondent,  caused  Gavan  to  think  that  no 
"shapps,"  no  matter  how  tough,  would  greatly 
hinder  the  teeth  of  a  good-sized  coyote,  which  can 
tear  horse-hide  and  cow-hide  as  though  it  were 
tissue  paper.  Besides,  with  all  of  the  lower  half 
of  his  body  outside,  the  part  of  the  body  on  which 
he  sat  in  the  saddle,  and  which  of  course  was  not 
covered  by  the  leather  "shapps,"  was  practically 
exposed. 

Why  did  the  coyote  tug  at  a  leather  boot,  in- 


202     WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

stead  of  ripping  his  flesh  open  where  it  was  un- 
protected! 

Was  it  a  coyote  at  all? 

A  sudden  hope,  bright  as  though  the  sunshine 
had  suddenly  flooded  the  dark  coyote  den,  flashed 
into  Gavan's  mind. 

He  whistled  shrilly. 

Outside,  a  familiar  bark  responded. 

It  was  no  coyote,  it  was  one  of  his  Airedales, 
who,  with  that  strange  prescience  possessed  by 
dogs  had  sensed  his  master's  danger,  wrenched 
himself  loose  and  trailed  his  master  to  the  coyote 
den.  Arrived  there,  he  had  found  the  leg  stick- 
ing out  of  the  hole,  and  after  a  whimper  or  two 
had  brought  no  response,  he  had  started  to  try 
to  pull  his  master  out,  with  true  dog  intelligence, 
smelling  the  coyotes  within  and  supposing  that 
his  master  was  in  some  sort  of  trouble. 

For  a  long  time  the  pulling  continued,  then,  as 
suddenly  it  stopped. 

Gavan  whistled.     There  was  no  answer. 

Had  the  Airedale  gone?  If  so,  where?  The 
boy  knew  enough  about  dogs  to  be  sure  that  the 
terrier  would  never  have  deserted  him  unless 
there  were  some  plan  in  his  doggish  mind,  so  he 
waited  hopefully  for  what  might  come.  Despair 


IN  A  WILD  BEAST'S  DEN       203 

had  vanished  with  that  tugging  at  his  left  boot- 
heel. 

Two  hours  later,  Quick  Feather,  standing  by  the 
low  mud  wall  which  encircles  the  pueblo,  listen- 
ing to  the  younger  men  singing  their  unison 
chants,  as  Pueblo  Indians  do  almost  every  even- 
ing, heard  a  sharp  bark,  and  a  slimly-built  Aire- 
dale bounded  up  and  put  its  two  paws  against  his 
chest. 

The  Indian  looked  down  at  the  dog.  He  did  not 
pat  it,  as  a  white  man  would.  Indians  rarely 
caress  animals. 

"Gavan's  dog,"  he  said.     "Where  Gavan?" 

The  dog  barked,  ran  away  a  few  steps,  came 
back  and  barked  again. 

"Rope  chewed  through,"  remarked  the  Indian, 
noting  that  the  rope  fastened  to  the  dog's  collar 
had  been  bitten,  strand  by  strand.  "Dog  run 
long  way." 

Quick  Feather  then  carried  out  his  constant 
advice  to  the  boy  to  "think  like  an  animal."  He 
stooped  down  and  looked  into  the  dog's  eyes. 

"Dog  in  trouble,"  he  concluded,  "Gavan  in 
trouble." 

He  swung  off  with  the  long  silent  step  of  the 
Indian  to  the  corral  made  of  poles,  with  which  the 


204    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

pueblo  is  surrounded  on  three  sides,  and  came 
back  a  moment  later  astride  of  his  pony.  Quick 
Feather  was  old,  but  there  were  few  young  fellows 
in  the  tribe  who  could  move  more  quickly  when 
needed. 

The  dog  leaped  up  and  barked  joyously.  It 
was  not  necessary  to  be  a  reader  of  dog  language 
to  know  that  Quick  Feather  had  guessed  right. 

Before  leaving  the  pueblo,  however,  Quick 
Feather  dismounted  again  and  looked  thought- 
fully at  the  dog.  Then  he  called  a  boy  who  was 
standing  near  and  gave  him  an  order.  The  lad 
ran  off  and  returned  a  few  minutes  later  with  a 
long  piece  of  binder  twine — for  the  modern  Indian 
is  a  good  agriculturist  and  understands  the  use  of 
improved  farm  machinery.  This  the  Indian  tied 
to  the  dog's  collar. 

"Dog  in  trouble,"  he  said,  "run  too  fast  for 
pony.  Lose  sight  of  dog." 

Whereupon,  he  remounted  the  pony  and  set 
out  at  a  steady  lope,  the  Airedale  pulling  steadily 
ahead. 

To  Gavan,  waiting  in  the  hole,  the  time  seemed 
endless,  but,  after  an  interminable  delay,  he  heard 
the  welcome  sharp  bark,  and  whistled  in  reply. 

Then,  almost  before  he  was  aware  of  it,  the  long 


IN  A  WILD  BEAST'S  DEN       205 

iron  bar  that  he  had  left  beside  the  hole,  when  he 
chipped  the  pieces  away  to  enlarge  the  entrance, 
was  thrust  in,  and  the  rock  over  his  back  lifted. 

With  a  gasp  of  relief,  Gavan  backed  out,  his 
breath  coming  sharp  because  of  the  twist  that  he 
had  given  himself,  and  his  whole  body  feeble  with 
the  strain.  Still,  despite  the  pain,  he  scrambled 
back  into  the  open  and  the  pine-scented  fresh  air, 
and  then  was  seized  with  another  attack  of  nausea. 
Not  till  the  spasm  was  over,  did  he  recognize  his 
rescuer. 

"How,  Quick  Feather!"  he  said.  "How  did 
you  find  me?  Was  it — "  and  he  threw  one  arm 
around  the  Airedale's  neck,  and  fainted. 

Picking  the  boy  up  in  his  arms,  though  he  was 
no  light  weight,  the  sturdy  old  Indian  carried  him 
the  mile  and  a  half  back  to  the  cabin,  pony  and 
dog  following  behind  as  though  they  knew  and 
understood. 


CHAPTER  VII 

EAKTH'S  LARGEST  CARNIVORE 

SEVERE  as  had  been  Gavan's  experience  in  the 
coyote's  den,  a  day  or  two  soon  put  him  on  his 
feet.  For  months  afterwards,  he  had  an  occa- 
sional twinge  in  his  side,  where  he  had  strained 
himself  trying  to  wriggle  out  of  the  trap,  but  not 
of  any  consequence.  Nothing,  however,  would  in- 
duce him  to  creep  into  a  coyote  den  again.  If 
the  little  beasts  could  be  dug  out,  well  and  good, 
if  not,  Gavan  contented  himself  with  fastening 
some  large-sized  fish-hooks  on  a  long  pole  and 
pulling  out  the  pups  that  way. 

The  bounty  offered  by  the  XO  added  quite  a 
snug  little  sum  to  Gavan's  savings,  and,  although 
the  pelts  were  not  worth  much,  he  found  that  the 
adults  he  trapped  in  the  early  spring  had  a  pelage 
sufficiently  dense  to  be  of  value.  Though  New 
Mexico  is  too  far  south  for  good  furs,  the  Sangre 
de  Cristo  Mountains  are  high  and  the  cold  winters 
206 


EARTH'S  LARGEST  CARNIVORE     207 

and  heavy  snows  produce,  in  some  years,  a  prime 
article  of  fur. 

By  the  time  the  ground  was  ready  to  be  worked 
and  put  in  shape  for  next  year's  hay  crop,  Gavan 
had  taken  over  a  hundred  coyotes,  including  pups. 
Acting  on  the  suggestion  of  the  Forest  Super- 
visor, moreover,  he  had  made  a  point  of  writing 
every  week  or  ten  days  to  the  Biological  Survey 
expert  concerning  his  work,  in  order  to  keep  him- 
self remembered.  Gavan 's  heart  was  set  on  be- 
coming a  government  trapper,  sooner  or  later, 

Towards  the  end  of  May,  when  the  crops  were 
in  and  growing  well,  one  day,  Gavan,  riding  along 
his  trap  line,  saw  a  track  on  the  ground  which 
gave  his  heart  a  jump.  Reining  his  pony  to  one 
side,  he  jumped  off  and  examined  the  mark  care- 
fully. 

"If  I  believed  in  fairy  tales,"  muttered  the  boy, 
"that  would  be  a  giant,  going  barefoot!" 

He  dropped  the  lines  over  the  horse's  head, 
so  that  the  animal  might  graze  and  yet  not  get  far 
away,  while  he  examined  the  print. 

The  track  was  pointing  down-hill,  on  loose 
ground  around  a  gopher's  burrow,  but  there  was 
little  definite,  only  a  faint  flat  impression  which 
certainly  was  not  cow,  horse,  or  human  boot.  It 


208    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

was  so  faint,  and  yet  so  large  that  the  thought  oc- 
curred to  the  boy  that  it  might  have  been  made  by 
a  hawk's  or  an  owl's  wing,  as  one  or  other  of 
these  pounced  down  on  a  gopher. 

"If  it's  a  bird's  wing,"  said  the  boy,  half  aloud, 
"there  won't  be  any  other  mark.  If  it  isn't,  there 
must  be.  But  it's  almost  big  enough  for  a  young 
elephant!" 

So,  scanning  carefully  the  ground,  Gavan 
circled  warily  around  the  suspected  track  until 
he  came  to  a  place  where  the  ground  squirrels 
had  been  busy  digging  out  their  burrows.  Here, 
he  knew,  was  his  best  chance,  for  he  had  learned 
that  even  the  wary  coyote  has  not  become  aware 
of  the  fact  that  trotting  over  the  loose  earth  near 
these  burrows  will  leave  a  track  plain  for  any  one 
to  read.1 

Finally,  almost  straight  down-hill  from  the 
former  track,  Gavan  found  another.  This  one 
was  comparatively  clear  and  distinct,  that  is,  to 
trained  eyes.  Although  a  western  trapper  would 
have  seen  it  from  horseback,  an  eastern  boy,  even 
though  it  were  pointed  out  to  him,  and  who  got 
down  on  his  knees  to  look  at  it,  would  have  seen 

i  Incredible  as  it  may  seem,  some  old  outlaw  wolves  have 
learned  this  and  show  an  uncanny  ability  in  avoiding  ground 
which  would  leave  a  track. 


EARTH'S  LARGEST  CARNIVORE     209 

nothing  but  an  indeterminate  smudge  on  the 
ground.1 

At  this  second  track,  Gavan  looked  long  and 
intently.  There  was  no  doubting  what  it  was. 

"That's  a  grizzly!"  he  declared.  "But  what 
a  monster !  He  must  be  the  grandfather  of  all  the 
bears." 

Then,  stooping  down,  Gavan  measured  the  track. 
It  was  longer,  from  the  heel  to  the  front  of  the 
ball  of  the  foot,  than  his  two  hands  would  span, 
and  beyond  that,  again,  could  be  seen  the  print  of 
the  toes.  Still  farther,  some  barely  traceable 
furrows  in  the  dry  earth  showed  the  narrow 
claws. 

"Sixteen  inches!"  exclaimed  Gavan,  and  whis- 
tled. "  It 's  a  whale  of  a  bear ! ' ' 

True  to  his  trapping  instinct,  Ga van's  first 
thought  was  to  try  to  catch  that  bear,  but  no 
sooner  had  he  formulated  the  idea  in  his  mind 
than  he  dismissed  it.  He  had  no  trap  among  his 
collection  larger  than  a  No.  4^  and  neci:;  all 

i  The  author  was  much  impressed  with  this,  when  working 
in  the  Taos  Mountains  in  the  preparation  of  this  book.  A  govern- 
ment bear  trapper,  riding  at  fair  speed,  followed  and  distinguished 
the  trails  of  two  bears,  although  these  trails  were  so  faint  that 
the  author  was  only  able  to  trace  them  vaguely  by  dismounting 
and  regarding  the  marks  fixedly.  And  the  author  is  not  new  to 
trapping,  either! 


210    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

of  them  were  3's  and  4's.  It  needed  very  little 
figuring  to  see  that  even  the  41/2,  with  a  spread  of 
jaws  of  but  eight  inches,  would  never  hold  a 
creature  with  a  foot  such  as  the  track  showed. 

His  success  in  trapping  coyotes  had  also  taught 
Gavan  one  of  the  first  essentials  to  a  good  trapper, 
namely,  never  to  make  an  unsuccessful  set. 
Better  no  trap  at  all  than  too  light  a  trap,  in  which 
a  large  animal  may  be  caught  and  wrench  himself 
free.  Such  a  mistake  merely  educates  the  animal, 
and  makes  him  ten  times  as  hard  to  catch  as 
formerly. 

For  a  while  Gavan  ruminated  over  the  track. 

"  Guess  I'd  better 'tell  McLeod  about  this,"  he 
finally  decided.  "If  I  do  anything,  I'll  only  scare 
him  off  the  place  and  he  may  be  the  cattle-killing 
grizzly  that  Mr.  Winon  talked  about  last  fall. 
McLeod 's  got  the  traps  and  knows  how  to  go 
about  it.  I  don't." 

As  Gavan  had  long  promised  himself  the  pleas- 
ur^  cf  a  week  with  the  bear-hunter,  and  as  his 
crops  were  sufficiently  advanced  to  be  let  alone 
for  a  few  days,  Gavan  decided  to  take  his  vaca- 
tion at  once.  He  wrote  to  the  Biological  Survey 
chief  that  he  had  found  a  grizzly  bear  track  and 
was  going  up  to  McLeod  to  tell  him  about  it,  for 


EARTH'S  LARGEST  CARNIVORE     211 

the  lad  shrewdly  reasoned  that  the  more  he  showed 
his  interest  in  other  forms  of  trapping  beside 
coyote,  the  more  chance  there  was  for  him  in  the 
Biological  Survey. 

This  done,  he  sprung  all  his  traps  and  brought 
them  home,  knowing  the  unwisdom  as  well  as  the 
cruelty  of  untended  traps,  slung  a  couple  of  bags 
of  provision  on  either  side  of  his  saddle,  so  that 
he  would  be  able  to  keep  up  his  share  of  the  grub 
of  the  camp,  and  rode  up  to  the  cabin  where  the 
riders  had  gathered  for  the  famous  coyote 
" drive"  of  the  autumn  before. 

He  reached  there  before  dark,  finding  the  camp 
deserted.  Whereupon,  knowing  the  ways  of  the 
camp,  he  hustled  out,  pulled  into  a  heap  the  butts 
of  half  a  dozen  dead  quaking  aspens — which  lay 
around  the  ground  by  thousands — ran  the  loop  of 
his  lariat  around  them  and  dragged  the  pile  down- 
hill to  the  camp.  A  few  strokes  of  the  ax  cut 
these  into  four-foot  lengths  and  five  minutes  later 
a  huge  fire  was  roaring  in  the  fire-hollow. 

The  boy  rousted  about  to  find  some  bread,  but 
not  discovering  any,  decided  that  McLeod  must 
just  have  run  out.  So,  placing  the  iron  pot  in  the 
embei  s,  to  get  reasonably  warm,  Gavan  proceeded 
to  mix  up  the  flour,  salt,  and  baking-powder  with 


212    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

water  which  he  had  placed  near  the  fire  for  a 
minute  or  two  to  take  the  chill  off,  removing  the 
iron  pot  as  soon  as  it  became  too  warm.  The  top 
of  this  pot  (known  as  a  camp  Dutch  oven),  which 
is  countersunk,  he  then  placed  in  the  hottest  part 
of  the  fire,  until  it  got  very  hot.  Next,  placing  the 
pot  on  a  small  tripod,  near  the  fire,  he  lightly 
(very  lightly)  kneaded  some  of  the  dough  until 
it  formed  a  flat  cake  about  an  inch  and  a  half  thick 
and  the  size  of  the  pot  round,  then  dropped  it  in 
the  heated  pot.  The  super-heated  cover  was  then 
put  on,  a  shovelful  of  red  embers  was  piled  on 
the  lid,  and  a  shovelful  of  red  embers  placed  under 
the  tripod  below  the  pot.  Thus  was  secured  an 
even,  steady  heat  from  top  and  bottom.  In  five 
minutes,  the  bread  had  risen  to  a  loaf  three  inches 
thick,  and  in  fifteen  minutes  it  was  thoroughly 
baked  and  brown. 

The  fire,  by  this  time,  had  burned  down  to  clear 
embers,  and  the  coffee-pot  was  put  on  to  boil,  while 
potatoes  were  being  peeled  and  the  bacon  cut  into 
slices  for  frying. 

Presently  the  barking  of  dogs  was  heard,  and 
a  couple  of  minutes  later,  McLeod  rode  into  the 
clearing. 


EARTH'S  LARGEST  CARNIVORE     213 

"Howdy,  Gavan,"  he  said,  "come  to  try  your 
hand  at  trappin'  grizzlies  now?" 

' '  Just  want  to  see  how  you  do  it, ' '  was  the  reply. 

The  hunter  made  a  grimace. 

"How  we  don't  do  it,  you  mean,"  he  answered. 
"There's  a  brute  around  here  that's  makin'  his 
breakfast,  dinner,  an'  supper  regularly  on  the  XO 
cattle,  an'  I  can't  either  get  a  look  at  him  nor 
persuade  him  to  take  a  nap  in  one  of  my  traps. 
I'm  plumb  disgusted  an'  that's  what!" 

The  hunter  was  unsaddling  and  hobbling  his 
pony  as  he  spoke,  and  presently  he  swung  through 
the  two  V-shaped  trees  which  formed  the  gate  to 
the  fence  surrounding  the  camp. 

"I've  got  something  to  tell  you  about  that," 
answered  Gavan,  "but  I  guess  it  can  wait. 
Supper's  ready." 

The  hunter  cast  a  swift  look  at  the  preparations, 
slouched  over  to  the  rough  table  with  the  bow-leg- 
ged walk  that  wearing  "shapps"  always  pro- 
duces, broke  off  a  bit  of  the  newly-baked  bread 
and  looked  round  at  the  boy  with  a  nod. 

"I'll  hire  you  as  camp  cook,"  he  said  with  a 
laugh.  "This  grub  is  all  to  the  good." 

Gavan  knew   that   his  prestige   was   assured. 


2i4    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

While  not  an  " old-timer, "  he  could  be  said  "to 
belong. ' ' 

Supper  over,  and  the  dishes  washed — for  how- 
ever often  unwashed  dishes  may  be  seen  in  city 
kitchens,  they  are  unknown  in  any  decent  camp — 
Gavan  commenced  to  tell  the  hunter  about  his 
discovery  of  the  bear-track  this  morning. 

"I  don't  want  to  seem  a,s  though  I  were  putting 
it  on  too  thick,"  he  concluded,  when  he  had  de- 
scribed the  exact  place  where  he  had  seen  the 
track,  "but  it  was  at  least  sixteen  inches  long. 
I  measured  it  this  way — "  he  spread  his  two  hands 
on  the  ground,  "and  it  was  longer  than  that." 

The  hunter  looked  at  him  with  a  dry  chuckle, 
as  he  pressed  the  tobacco  deep  into  his  pipe. 

"That  bear  must  ha'  walked  a  long  way,"  he 
suggested. 

"Why?"  asked  Gavan. 

"Because  I  ain't  ever  seen  no  bears  with  a 
track  like  that,  this  side  o '  Alaska.  I  used  to  get 
a  few  monsters  up  Cook  Inlet  way,  when  I  was  a 
young  fellow  an'  got  the  craze  to  go  huntin'  for 
gold  instead  o'  bear.  Fact,  I  don't  believe  there's 
any  bear  in  the  world,  anywhere,  but  in  Alaska, 
that's  got  a  track  more  than  twelve  or  thirteen 
inches  long,  at  the  outside." 


EARTH'S  LARGEST  CARNIVORE     215 

"Well,"  said  Gavan,  "if  the  Alaskan  bear  is 
the  only  one  that  makes  a  track  like  that,  then  it 's 
an  Alaskan  bear!" 

"If  it's  an  Alaskan  or  a  Kodiak  bear,"  the 
hunter  responded,  "I  reckon  I'll  let  him  alone." 

"Why?"  asked  Gavan. 

"Because  he'll  roast  to  death  in  New  Mexico 
an'  there  won't  be  any  need  to  trap  him,"  the 
hunter  answered  with  a  grin.  "Besides  I  ain't 
hankering  after  Kodiak  bears,  nohow.  I'd  rather 
have  something  easy,  like  a  mad  elephant,  or  a 
man-eating  lion." 

Gavan  saw  that  he  was  being  made  game  of, 
but  he  knew  nothing  about  Kodiak  bears,  he  had 
never  heard  of  them  before,  so  he  pretended  not 
to  see  the  irony  of  the  hunter's  replies,  and  asked, 

"Is  a  Kodiak  bigger  than  a  grizzly,  then?" 

"Is  a  timber  wolf  bigger  than  a  coyote?"  the 
hunter  snorted.  "Yes,  my  son,  a  Kodiak  is  a  durn 
sight  bigger  than  a  grizzly  an'  don't  you  forget 
it.  I've  trapped  a  right  smart  lot  of  grizzlies, 
durin'  the  last  twenty  years,  all  of  a  hundred,  I 
should  say,  but  around  700  pounds  was  the  heavi- 
est I've  ever  run  across.  Most  o'  them  are  a  good 
deal  smaller  than  that.1 

iThe   heaviest  grizzly  on   record  was   a   bear   in   the   Lincoln 


216    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

"While  as  for  Kodiak  bears,  I've  seen  'era 
that  run  1600  pounds,  an'  some  have  been  shot 
which  weighed  1800  pounds  an'  more.  You  won't 
be  far  out  if  you  reckon  a  Kodiak  bear  as  being 
generally  a  little  more  'n  twice  as  big  as  a  grizzly. 
Winon,  the  other  day,  told  me  a  Kodiak  bear  was 
the  largest  carnivorous  animal  livin',  an'  that  it 
could  make  hay  of  an  African  lion  or  a  Bengal 
tiger." 

"Did  you  ever  have  a  run  in  with  one,  Mc- 
Leod?"  asked  the  boy. 

"No,"  the  hunter  replied,  "I  can't  say  as  I 
have.  I've  shot  a  few,  four  altogether,  but  I 
didn't  shoot  until  I  had  a  sure  bead  on  them,  an' 
I  wasn  't  using  bird-shot  either.  I  carried  a  45-90 
with  soft-point  bullets,  an'  only  once  out  of 
the  four  times  did  I  have  to  shoot  twice.  No. 
I  have  no  kick. 

"But  I  happened  to  know  Wabash  Bill,  who  got 
pretty  badly  mauled  by  a  Kodiak  bear,  an'  his 
experience  made  me  even  more  scary  o!  gettin' 
mixed  up  with  the  monsters.  Like  every  wild 
animal  that  I  ever  heard  of — except  a  skunk  or  a 

Park  Zoo,  in  Chicago,  which  weighed  1153  pounds,  but  much 
of  this  was  soft  fat  which  would  not  have  been  on  the  animal  in 
a  wild  state.  About  850  pounds  is  probably  the  limit  of  a  big 
grizzly  in  its  native  state. 


Courtesy  of  American  Museum  of  Natural  History. 

PREHISTORIC  MAN  AND  THE  CAVE-BEAR. 

The  cave-bear  was  probably  about  the  same  size  as  the  modern  Kodiak 

bear  (1500  pounds  in  weight,  and  more)  but  was  more  thick-set 

in  build  and  less  dangerously  equipped  in  tooth  and  claw. 


EARTH'S  LARGEST  CARNIVORE     217 

porcupine — they'll  run  the  minute  they  smell,  see 
or  hear  man.  But  if  you  get  in  wrong  with  a 
Kodiak  bear,  you're  in  wrong  for  sure." 

"What  happened  to  Wabash  Bill?"  queried 
Gavan,  eager  for  the  story.1 

The  hunter  looked  smilingly  down  at  the  excited 
lad,  and,  after  a  few  puffs  of  his  pipe,  began: 

"On  the  mornin'  of  August  7,  1900,  Captain 
William  H.  Royden,  of  the  schooner  Wabash,  an' 
better  known  to  most  of  us  as  'Wabash  Bill,' 
findin'  his  larder  shy  o'  fresh  meat,  went  ashore 
after  deer.  He  was  anchored  in  Rodman  Bay, 
Alaska,  at  the  time. 

"Wabash  Bill  was  an  old  hand  at  the  game. 
He  knew  the  woods  as  well  as  he  did  the  decks  of 
his  schooner,  an'  he  was  as  good  a  frontiersman 
an'  guide  as  he  was  a  pilot.  Every  one  knew 
Wabash  Bill  all  along  the  coast.  Any  one  would 
have  said  that  he  was  as  well  able  to  look  after 
himself  as  a  full-grown  grizzly  might  be. 

"In  the  summer  months,  the  cleer  in  that  part 
o'  the  world  browse  high  on  the  mountain-slopes, 

i  This  story,  written  originally  by  Alfred  E.  Bennett,  in  the 
Wide  World  Magazine,  was  reprinted  by  Field  and  Stream, 
after  thorough  authentication,  as  "one  of  the  most  extraordinary 
authentic  stories  of  human  endurance,  following  injuries  re- 
ceived from  a  wild  animal."  It  has  been  confirmed  in  every  par- 
ticular. 


2i8    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

close  to  timber  line,  where  the  meltin'  snows  leave 
moss-beds  an'  young  green  grass  exposed. 
There's  rich  eatin'  up  there,  an'  deer,  as  you 
know,  don't  like  hot  weather.  So  Wabash  Bill, 
when  he  started  out,  knew  that  he  was  in  for  a  long 
climb,  but  he  was  a  sportsman  through  an' 
through,  an'  though  he  declared  that  fresh  meat 
was  his  goal,  it  was  the  sportin'  end  of  it  that 
appealed  to  him  just  as  much. 

"Deer  were  plentiful,  an'  the  captain,  sure  of 
baggin'  his  game  an'  tired  from  the  long  climb, 
decided  to  wait  at  a  convenient  spot  an'  let  the 
deer  feed  on  up  toward  him,  instead  of  goin'  to 
all  the  trouble  of  a  long  an '  difficult  stalk  over  high 
grass  flats  made  marshy  by  the  meltin'  snow.  So, 
concealin'  himself  in  a  clump  of  scrub  willow,  not 
far  from  a  patch  of  snow,  the  sturdy  old  boy  ate 
a  midday  lunch  an'  settled  himself  to  wait  for  his 
quarry. 

11  Around  3  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  a  small 
fat  buck  stepped  cv:t  from  a  thick  fringe  of  under- 
brush an'  sniffed  the  cool,  pure  air  for  a  suspicious 
taint.  There  was  nothing  to  arouse  his  suspicion 
for  Wabash  Bill,  naturally,  had  stationed  himself 
on  the  lee  side  o'  the  flat,  so  that  no  wind  should 
blow  from  him  towards  the  feedin'  deer.  The 


EARTH'S  LARGEST  CARNIVORE     219 

buck,  therefore,  bent  down  to  crop  the  sprouts  in 
a  moss-bed,  not  more'n  200  yards  from  where 
the  hunter  sat. 

"The  captain's  rifle  spoke  once.  Before  the 
echoes  had  petered  out,  Wabash  Bill  was  standin' 
over  the  little  animal,  which  had  dropped  in  its 
tracks.  His  skinnin'  knife  was  ready,  an'  with  the 
expertness  of  years  of  practice,  it  only  took  him  a 
few  minutes  to  dress  the  body.  Then,  havin' 
washed  away  the  blood  on  his  hands  in  a  brook 
fed  by  the  meltin'  snows,  he  leisurely  smoked  a 
pipe — which  he  had  not  dared  to  do  before  for  fear 
a  whiff  might  carry  to  the  sensitive  nostrils  of  the 
deer,  an'  with  the  buck  on  his  shoulders,  began 
his  climb  down  to  the  ship. 

"The  schooner  lay  some  three  thousand  feet 
down  an'  two  miles  to  the  right,  an'  Wabash  Bill, 
rememberin'  the  roughness  of  the  trail  he  came  up, 
chose  a  course  straight  for  the  water  as  the  short- 
est cut  through  the  forest. 

"For  an  hour  he  battled  with  clingin'  under- 
brush an'  thorny  devil-clubs,  stumbled  over  fallen 
logs  an'  sank  ankle-deep  in  boggy  places.  Mos- 
quitoes an'  flies — an'  believe  me,  son,  the  Alaska 
mosquitoes  can  give  odds  to  any  other  mosquitoes 
in  the  world  in  a  biting  contest  an'  win  out  handily 


220    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

— attracted  by  the  smell  of  the  blood  on  the  deer, 
nearly  drove  him  crazy.  Besides,  it  was  hotter 'n 
South  Texas  on  a  windless  day.  Can't  it  get  hot 
near  the  Arctic  Circle!  It's  like  the  inside  of  a 
stew-pan  over  a  dry  oak  fire. 

"At  last  he  worked  his  way  through  the  scrub 
growth  an'  reached  the  larger  timber.  There  the 
travelin'  was  easier  as  the  undergrowth  was  not 
so  dense.  It  was  rough  goin',  still,  though,  an' 
at  times,  Wabash  Bill  told  me,  he  could  scarcely 
see  the  ground  for  the  swarms  of  flies,  mosquitoes, 
gnats,  an'  other  insects  around  him,  while  the 
whiz  of  their  wings  sounded  like  the  entrance  to  a 
busy  bee-hive. 

"The  slope  was  steep  grade  an'  he  had  still 
three-quarters  of  a  mile  of  durn  stiff  mountain- 
side to  go  down,  but  the  trees  had  opened  out  a 
little.  They  were  very  closely  set,  however,  an' 
their  branches  meetin '  overhead  shut  out  the  sun- 
light. It  was  right  gloomy,  dark  shade  with 
clearin's  here  an'  there,  park-like  open  patches 
full  of  long  grass.  An'  every  separate  blade  of 
grass  was  the  home  of  a  tribe  of  mosquitoes,  all 
hungry  an'  plumb  energetic. 

"Tired,  perspirin'  an'  exasperated  almost  be- 
yond endurance  by  the  stings  of  the  insects  an' 


EARTH'S  LARGEST  CARNIVORE     221 

the  perpetual  crawling  of  flies  over  his  sweat- 
drippin'  face,  Wabash  Bill  went  onward  an'  down- 
ward, thinkin'  only  o'  gettin'  to  his  schooner  as 
quickly  as  he  could,  lookin'  forward  to  strippin' 
and  takin '  a  swim,  icy  though  the  water  would  be. 

"Then,  as  he  crossed  a  small  clearin'  an'  en- 
tered the  thick  again,  he  passed  between  two  wal- 
lopin'  big  pines  standin'  close  together  on  the  edge 
of  the  forest. 

"It  is  one  of  the  iron  rules  of  bear-hunters,  as 
I  told  you  last  fall,  Gavan,  never  to  go  between 
two  big  trees  standin'  very  near  together,  but 
Wabash  Bill  was  either  too  irritated  by  the  mos- 
quitoes to  think  about  the  rule,  or  else  too  tired 
an'  worked  up  to  take  the  dozen  or  so  steps 
out  of  the  way.  Anyhow,  he  took  a  chance,  an' 
stepped  between  the  trees. 

"Suddenly,  without  the  slightest  warnin'  save 
a  deep-throated  savage  snarl,  a  great  brown  she- 
bear  sprang  upon  his  back  an '  bore  him  face  down- 
wards to  the  ground,  tearin'  a  patch  of  skin  from 
the  back  of  his  head  with  her  teeth,  as  he  fell. 

"Squalling  and  bawling  with  rage  and  joy,  a 
couple  of  half -grown  cubs — either  of  them  the  size 
of  an  ordinary  black  bear — joined  their  mother, 
clawin'  an'  bitin'  at  Bill  as  he  lay  on  the  ground. 


222    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

"Wabash  Bill  could  offer  no  defense.  His  rifle 
had  been  jerked  out  of  his  hands  as  he  fell,  he  had 
no  revolver,  and  his  knife  was  in  his  pocket. 

"  Moreover,  there  was  no  chance  to  use  a 
weapon,  even  if  he  had  one,  for  the  old  bear  stood 
right  over  him,  the  spittle  from  her  bloody  jaws 
pourin'  down  on  his  neck. 

"The  cubs  alternately  bit  an'  clawed  at  his 
trunk  an'  legs,  keepin'  up  a  savage  growlin'  all 
the  while. 

"Poor  Bill  bore  the  excruciatin'  pain  in  grim 
silence,  with  his  elbows  held  close  to  his  side,  to 
protect  the  abdomen.  Had  he  fallen  on  his  back, 
or  had  the  brutes  thought  of  turnin'  him  over,  he 
would  have  been  ripped  up  or  had  his  throat  cut 
in  an  instant. 

"Though  half  stunned  an'  nearly  mad  with 
pain,  Wabash  Bill  realized  that  his  only  salvation 
lay  in  keepin'  still  an'  protectin'  his  throat  an' 
abdomen.  A  bear  finds  no  sport  in  a  dead  victim, 
an'  he  knew  that  many  a  man  had  been  saved  by 
playing  'possum. 

"At  last  the  bears  drew  off  a  few  feet  an',  sit- 
tin'  on  their  haunches,  watched  their  prey,  lickin' 
their  blood-flecked  chops  an'  snarlin',  Bill  said, 


EARTH'S  LARGEST  CARNIVORE     223 

like  a  dozen  circular-saws  goin'  through  water- 
logged timber. 

11  Filled  with  hope,  Wabash  Bill  lay  motionless, 
exertin'  every  ounce  of  will-power  he  possessed 
to  keep  from  movin'.  He  hardly  dared  to 
breathe. 

"  Suddenly,  his  right  arm  quivered  involun- 
tarily, by  a  reflex  action,  as  one  of  those  bitin' 
bulldog  flies  settled  in  a  gaping  wound  that  had 
been  made  by  one  of  the  cubs,  an'  which  had  ex- 
posed the  muscles  of  the  shoulder. 

1  'Instantly  the  old  bear  was  upon  him,  with  a 
dreadful  roar,  an'  seizin'  his  wrist  in  her  teeth, 
bit  it  through. 

"Human  nature  couldn't  stand  no  more,  an' 
Wabash  Bill,  weak  from  pain  an'  loss  of  blood, 
fainted.  Then  the  she-bear,  givin'  him  a  last 
slap  with  her  massive  paw  which  struck  his  right 
thigh,  led  off  her  cubs,  still  growlin',  through  the 
forest. 

"When  Wabash  Bill  regained  consciousness,  it 
was  dark,  an'  swarms  of  mosquitoes  buzzed 
around  him,  feedin'  at  his  wounds  an'  stingin' 
his  half-naked  body.  Every  wound  was  stiff  and 
cold  an'  his  throat  burned  with  an  awful  thirst. 


224    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

Makin'  a  painful  effort,  he  broke  off  a  couple  of 
fern-stalks  that  lay  just  in  his  grasp  an'  laid  them 
over  his  face  to  keep  away  the  insects,  then  lapsed 
once  more  into  unconsciousness. 

"From  this  swoon  he  came  out  into  a  half 
stupor  an'  lay  there  for  three  days,  half  con- 
scious. ' ' 

"Three  days!"  exclaimed  Gavan. 

"Three  days,*'  the  hunter  repeated.  "They 
must  have  passed  like  a  horrible  nightmare,  the 
cold  wet  nights,  the  burnin'  heat  of  the  middle 
of  the  day,  the  perpetual  stings  of  a  thousand 
mosquitoes  an'  the  intolerable  yalkin'  an'  bitin' 
o'  cattle-flies  over  his  gapin'  wounds. 

"Brain  fever  came  to  help  him  out,  since  it 
made  him  feel  his  sufferin'  less,  though  one 
thought  burned  into  his  fevered  mind  like  a  brand  - 
in '  iron —  Water! 

"Insensible  now  to  the  pain  of  his  wounds,  the 
thirst-crazed  man  half  crawled,  half  rolled  down 
the  mountainside,  an',  by  a  lucky  chance,  hap- 
pened upon  a  little  trickle  o'  snow-water. 
Drinkin'  long  an'  deep,  an'  lettin'  the  icy  water 
run  over  his  wounds,  which,  o'  course,  were  full 
o'  dirt  an'  leaves,  to  say  nothin'  o'  the  infections 
brought  by  insects,  Wabash  Bill  regained  his 


EARTH'S  LARGEST  CARNIVORE     225 

senses  only  to  find  himself  worse  off  than  before 
with  a  gnawin'  hunger  an'  a  feverish  throbbin' 
in  every  nerve  an'  muscle  of  his  body. 

"Wabash  Bill,  however,  was  made  o'  the  stern 
old  stuff  we  used  to  call  Americans  in  this 
western  country,  not  the  soft  city  dudes  whose 
only  idea  is  to  buy  somethin'  cheap  an'  sell  it 
dear  (the  hunter  was  an  inveterate  hater  of 
tradesfolk)  an'  he  had  western  grit  in  his  will  an' 
red  blood  in  his  veins,  though  the  bears  had 
drawn  out  a  lot  o'  the  latter.  He  set  out  to  work 
his  way  through  the  more  than  half  a  mile  o' 
thick  forest  that  lay  between  him  an'  the  beach; 
followin'  the  stream. 

"His  right  arm  was  entirely  useless,  but  with 
his  left  arm  an'  knee,  he  struggled  on,  foot  by 
foot.  He  soon  found  it  impossible  to  follow  the 
stream,  an'  right  soon  his  burnin'  thirst  started 
in  again.  Sticks,  leaves,  thorns  an'  dirt  worked 
into  the  open  wounds  on  his  head,  arms  an'  legs, 
an'  a  hunger  gripped  him  with  an  agony  that 
got  worse  every  hour. 

"Keepin'  his  tongue  moist  by  lickin'  leaves 
an'  moss,  now  anr  again  findin'  just  one  or  maybe 
two  salmon  berries  to  eat,  which  kept  his  tongue 
an'  lips  from  crackin',  Wabash  Bill  pushed  on, 


226    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

more  often  than  not  rollin'  down-hill  a  yard  or 
two  an'  brumn'  himself  further  by  landin'  against 
a  stone  or  tree,  his  strength  bein'  unequal  to  the 
job  o'  proppin'  himself  up  on  one  knee  to  crawl. 
Still,  foot  by  foot,  he  got  down  the  hill,  alternately 
droppin'  into  a  feverish  sleep,  or  faintin'  with 
the  unbearable  agony  of  his  injuries. 

"On  the  sixth  day  his  sufferings  were  made 
worse  by  the  approach  of  rescue.  He  heard  the 
signal  shots  of  a  searchin'  party  but  was  unable 
to  answer.  Spent  with  hunger,  fatigue  and  pain, 
his  nose  broken  an'  closed,  his  head  swollen  from 
a  cuff  given  him  by  one  of  the  cubs,  his  tongue 
parched  an'  his  breath  exhausted,  his  effort  to 
cry  out  in  response  sounded  only  like  the  distant 
echo  of  the  bawling  of  a  bear.  Probably  it  could 
not  have  been  heard  a  dozen  yards  away.  The 
shots  receded  an'  grew  fainter,  an'  Wabash  Bill 
became  unconscious  once  more. 

" Later,  just  when  he  did  not  know,  he  found 
himself  strugglinr  downwards  an'  saw,  about  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  away,  the  blue  waters  of  the 
bay  dancin'  in  the  sunshine.  Once,  he  thought, — 
an'  it  may  have  been  true,  at  that — he  saw  his 
own  schooner  through  a  rift  in  the  trees. 

"Comin'  to  a  small  level  spot,  where  the  force 


EARTH'S  LARGEST  CARNIVORE     227 

of  gravity  couldn't  help  him  out  by  lettin'  him  roll 
down,  Wabash  Bill  found  himself,  to  his  despair, 
unable  to  cross.  He  strained  every  shred  of  the 
remnants  of  his  tremendous  vitality,  every  fiber 
of  his  wonderful  nerve,  in  a  vain  effort  to  reach 
the  slopin'  ground  again;  but  his  desperate 
struggle  was  useless  and  he  collapsed,  pantin' 
weakly. 

"A  big  snail  crawled  within  reach  of  his  hands. 

"He  seized  it,  an'  ate  it  ravenously.  Then, 
after  a  hard  struggle,  he  succeeded  in  reachin'  a 
few  salmon-berries. 

"It's  a  wonder,  Gavan,  what  one  bite  of  food 
will  do  for  a  man  dyin'  of  hunger.  Hope  re- 
vived in  Royden's  breast,  an'  he  waited  an' 
prayed  for  another  scrap  of  food  to  lend  him 
strength  to  get  to  the  water's  edge. 

"As  if  .by  miracle,  it  came. 

"Suddenly  he  heard  a  wild  screamin'  an' 
flutterin',  an',  turnin'  his  head  with  a  violent  ef- 
fort an'  a  wrench  of  pain,  he  saw  an  eagle  an' 
a  fish-hawk  fightin'  in  the  air  above  him. 

"A  second  later,  he  saw  the  bushes  move,  as  a 
falling  object  plumped  into  them,  only  a  few  feet 
away. 

"A  choked  cry -of  joy  burst  from  Wabash  Bill's 


228    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

throat  as  he  realized  what  had  happened.  He  had 
seen  this  thing  happen  many  times  before,  when 
an  eagle  would  strive  to  rob  a  hawk  of  a  fish.  He 
knew  that  food  an'  another  chance  of  life  lay 
at  his  hand. 

"The  nearness  of  his  goal,  the  sight  of  his 
vessel  in  the  bay,  his  love  for  life,  an'  the  one 
fragment  of  food — the  snail — gave  him  the 
strength  of  a  superhuman  effort,  an',  inchin'  him- 
self over  the  level  ground  as  a  wounded  cater- 
pillar crawls,  Bill  drew  himself  toward  the  bushes. 

"The  victorious  eagle  flew  in  circles  above  him, 
utterin'  harsh  cries,  hatin'  to  leave  the  fish  it 
had  fought  to  get  an'  yet  afraid  to  approach  the 
strange  creature  which  crawled  nearer  and  nearer 
to  the  flashin'  trout. 

"How  the  starvin'  man  reached  the  fish  he 
never  knew,  but  at  last  he  held  it  in  his  hand, 
still  wet  an'  quiverin',  an'  never  stopped  chewin' 
until  he  had  stripped  the  last  bone  of  the  rich, 
juicy  pink  flesh. 

"Overcome  with  his  efforts,  Wabash  Bill  fell 
asleep  an'  slept  until  noon  of  the  seventh  day. 
On  wakenin',  he  found  his  strength  was  wonder- 
fully renewed  by  the  meal  of  raw  fish,  an'  so 


EARTH'S  LARGEST  CARNIVORE     229 

continued  his  weary  journey  at  once.  Gamely  he 
struggled  on  an'  at  last  dragged  himself  out  on 
the  wet  rocks  of  the  beach. 

"His  ship  lay  some  200  fathoms  away.  She 
had  been  standin'  up  and  down  the  bay  for  a  week, 
in  a  vain  search  for  her  missin'  commander.  A 
sailor  on  the  deck  stood  unseein',  while  the  cap- 
tain feebly  waved  his  arm  an'  strove  to  call  out. 

"Presently  the  man  began  workin'  at  the 
anchor  chain.  The  schooner  was  preparin '  to  get 
under  way. 

"He  was  to  die,  after  all,  at  the  very  door  of 
hope! 

"Then,  with  a  last  despairin'  effort,  this  man 
who  had  gone  as  far  in  sufferin',  I  guess,  as 
any  .man  has  ever  done,  staggered  to  his  feet  for 
the  first  time  since  the  bear  struck  him  down,  an' 
throwin '  his  last  ounce  o '  strength  into  an  animal- 
like  cry,  fell  face  downwards  among  the  rocks. 

"The  man  on  the  deck  of  the  schooner  saw  his 
captain  fall  an'  all  hands  got  busy  with  a  rush. 
Signal  guns  were  fired  to  tell  the  searchers  on 
the  beach  to  return  to  the  ship,  an'  a  boat  put 
out  on  the  instant,  with  stimulants,  food  an '  medi- 
cines. 


23o    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

"They  found  Wabash  Bill  delirious,  emaciated, 
an'  covered  with  innumerable  wounds  in  a  shock- 
in'  state. 

"Rollin'  him  in  a  blanket,  they  took  him  aboard 
an'  made  all  speed  for  Sitka.  Arrivin'  there  on 
the  evenin'  of  the  14th,  the  eighth  day  after  the 
captain  had  left  the  ship,  Wabash  Bill  was  hurried 
to  the  Naval  Hospital. 

"Surgeon  H.  G.  Grieve  reported  the  captain's 
injuries  to  be:  1,  a  broken  nose,  with  the  bone 
badly  crushed  into  the  flesh;  2,  the  bone  exposed 
over  the  right  temple;  3,  the  left  ear  hanging  by 
shreds  at  the  top  and  bottom;  4,  two  severe  scalp 
wounds,  exposing  the  bone  of  the  skull;  5,  the 
right  forearm  and  shoulder  badly  bitten ;  6,  bones 
of  the  right  wrist  crushed  and  displaced  by  bite 
showing  where  the  huge  bear's  teeth  met;  7,  deep 
wound  in  the  left  thigh;  8,  two  large  wounds  on 
the  right  thigh;  9,  five  severe  bites  in  the  right 
leg;  10,  right  leg  swollen  and  black  with  a 
tendency  to  become  gangrenous !  In  all,  no  f ewTer 
than  64  separate  bad  wounds  were  counted,  not  to 
mention  deep  scratches  an'  bruises,  many  of  the 
wounds  infected  an'  all  in  a  bad  state." 

"Did  he  die?"  asked  Gavan. 

"Thirty-seven  days  later,"  the  hunter  replied, 


EARTH'S  LARGEST  CARNIVORE     231 

"Wabash  Bill  was  discharged  from  the  hospital 
in  good  physical  condition,  an'  he  left  Sitka  next 
day,  expressin'  his  intention  to  go  back  to  Kod- 
man  Bay  an '  get  even  with  the  bear  which  mauled 
him.  Those  are  the  kind  of  men  America 
breeds,"  the  hunter  concluded,  "but  even  so  you'll 
understand  why  I'm  not  achin'  to  have  a  set-to 
with  a  Kodiak  bear." 

"But  do  you  think,"  the  boy  asked,  "that  track 
I  saw  can  be  that  of  a  Kodiak?" 

"I  don't,  for  a  minute,"  the  hunter  answered, 
"but  whatever  it  is,  you  an'  I  will  hike  down  to-' 
morrow  to  see.    We  can't  have  bears  with  a  six- 
teen-inch  track  roaming  loose  over  the  Sangre  de 
Cristo  Mountains,  not  while  I'm  around!" 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   ENTRAPPED   BEAR 

seriously,  now,"  said  the  hunter,  the 
following  morning,  as  he  and  Gavan  squatted 
on  their  heels  in  front  of  the  camp  fire,  eating 
breakfast,  "how  big  do  you  think  that  track  was?" 

"I  was  speaking  seriously  last  night,"  an- 
swered Gavan.  "Honest,  I  was !  I  measured  the 
print  by  spanning  it  with  my  two  hands  and  it 
was  more  than  sixteen  inches." 

"An' how  wide!" 

"It  wasn't  very  wide,  four  or  five  inches  I 
should  say.  I  didn't  measure  the  width." 

"An'  goin'  down-hill?"  the  hunter  queried. 

The  boy  thought  for  a  moment. 

"Why,  yes,  it  was,"  he  admitted,  "but  what 
made  you  think  that?" 

The  hunter  smiled. 

"We'll  go  and  have  a  look  at  it  anyhow,"  he 

said,  "but  I'm  layin'  ten  to  one  that  it  isn't  a 

Kodiak  bear,  that's  sure.    It  may  not  even  be  a 

grizzly,  son,  it  may  only  be  a  good-natured  hulk 

232 


THE  ENTRAPPED  BEAR        233 

of  a  black  bear  rummagin '  around  for  ants '  eggs, 
or  grubs  or  the  like." 

"It  seems  queer,"  said  Gavan,  "when  you  come 
to  think  of  it,  that  a  body  as  big  as  that  of  a  bear 
should  secure  its  enormous  strength  from  ants' 
eggs,  and  bugs,  and  berries  and  stuff  of  that  sort. 
One  would  expect  a  grizzly  to  be  pulling  down 
cattle  and  antelope  and  game  of  that  sort  all  the 
time.  But  I  suppose  he  can't  run  fast  enough 
to  catch  them." 

"Don't  you  fool  yourself  about  a  bear's  not 
bein'  able  to  run,"  the  hunter  answered.  "That 
shufflin',  flat-footed  gait  doesn't  look  as  if  it 
amounted  to  much,  but  if  ever  a  bear  takes  after 
you,  don't  try  to  get  out  of  his  way  by  runnin'. 
No,  siree!  You  head  for  a  tree  an'  shin  up  it 
like  you  were  a  scared  cat." 

"That  would  be  all  right  for  a  grizzly,"  Gavan 
agreed,  "but  how  about  a  black  bear?  I  thought 
black  bears  could  climb  trees." 

"They  can,"  the  hunter  replied,  "an',  when 
pursued  by  dogs,  sometimes  they  will.  But, 
ninety  times  out  of  a  hundred,  if  a  black  bear's 
chasm'  you  an'  you  go  up  a  tree,  he'll  give  up  the 
chase.  Of  course,  if  he's  slightly  wounded  an' 
mad  plumb  through,  he  may  climb  after  you  an' 


234    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

matters  will  become  mighty  unpleasant  if  you 
haven't  a  gun.  Wait  till  we  get  on  the  trail  an' 
I'll  tell  you  what  happened  to  a  hunter  I  knew 
some  years  ago  in  Colorado." 

While  Gavan  saddled  his  ponies,  McLeod  took 
the  haunch  of  an  aged  burro  which  had  been  killed 
that  morning  for  bear-bait  a  couple  of  days  before, 
and  loaded  it  and  a  big  bear-trap  on  a  pack -mule 
which  the  boy  had  also  brought  up  when  he 
wrangled  and  corralled  horses.  Started  on  the 
trail  toward  the  huge  bear  track  that  Gavan 
had  seen  the  day  before,  the  boy  asked  McLeod 
for  the  promised  story. 

"That  Colorado  hunter  who  escaped  from  the 
bear  f "  the  hunter  queried.  '  *  It  was  a  queer  start, 
as  I  remember,  it  happened  something  this  way: 
Shortly  before  noon  this  chap  had  seen  a  black 
bear  a  long  way  off  an'  had  shot  at  him.  The  bear 
scrambled  away  without  seemin'  much  hurt  but 
this  fellow  followed  up  the  trail.  Presently  he 
got  good  an'  hungry  an'  sat  down  to  take  a  lunch 
o'  cold  fried  trout  he  had  brought  along.  He  was 
a  systematic  sort  of  cuss  an'  had  brought  along 
all  the  proper  fixin's,  even  to  a  little  screw-top 
bottle  o'  salt  an'  pepper  mixed,  which  he  kept 
in  his  pocket. 


THE  ENTRAPPED  BEAR        235 

' 'Just  while  he  was  takin'  a  bite,  he  heard  a  roar 
behind  him  an'  saw  the  bear  chargin'  out  of  the 
bushes.  His  rifle  an'  six-s'hooter  were  both  in 
the  saddle  holsters  an'  the  horse,  grazin',  was 
maybe  twenty  yards  away. 

"There  wasn't  much  time  for  thinkin'  what  to 
do,  but  this  old-timer  made  about  three  jumps 
to  the  nearest  tree,  the  bear  bein'  only  about  a 
jump  an'  a  half  behind  him.  He  swung  himself 
up  into  the  branches  an'  began  to  slide  aloft  as 
fast  as  he  could.  The  bear,  although  an  adult, 
bein'  angry  because  o'  the  shot,  commenced  to 
climb  after  him. 

"This  was  more  than  a  trifle  annoyin',  for  the 
hunter  had  no  weapon  with  him  except  his  huntin' 
knife,  an'  he  had  savvy  enough  to  know  that  you 
can't  make  a  hole  in  a  bear's  skull  with  a  knife. 
Then,  feelin'  in  his  pockets,  his  fingers  closed 
around  the  small  bottle,  an'  a  great  idea  hit  him. 
Pourin'  a  handful  of  the  mixed  salt  an'  pepper 
in  his  hand,  he  waited  until  the  bear  was  right 
close  an'  dashed  half  of  it  full  in  the  beast's  eyes. 
The  bear  roared  with  pain  an'  surprise,  an'  the 
old-timer  chucked  the  rest  of  it  into  the  open 
mouth. 

"His  little  pig-like  eyes  smarcin'  like  he'd  been 


236    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

stung  by  yellow- jackets  an'  his  throat  smartin'  so 
that  he  started  coughin'  like  a  lunger,  the  bear 
backed  down  the  tree,  an'  the  minute  he  touched 
ground,  he  set  off  as  fast  as  his  legs  would  carry 
him,  coughin'  and  sneezin'  as  he  went.  I  guess 
that's  the  only  time  I  ever  heard  of  a  bear  being 
rousted  by  a  pepper-pot. 

"But,  son,  as  I  said  before,  don't  trust  to 
your  legs  if  you  get  into  close  quarters  with  a 
bear.  If  you  can't  find  a  tree,  play  'possum 
rather  than  run.  A  grizzly  can  chase  down  a  herd 
of  cattle  any  time,  except  upon. a  flat,  open  plain. 
In  a  park-like  stretch,  like  where  you  rounded  up 
the  ponies  this  mornm',  a  bunch  of  steers,  at  top 
speed,  can  just  about  keep  ahead  of  a  pursuing 
bear,  but  if  the  trail  narrows  an'  gets  rocky,  or 
if  the  bunch  turns  into  undergrowth,  an' 
especially  thick  timber,  a  bear  can  catch  a  steer 
as  quickly  as  a  terrier  can  a  rat.  An'  one  blow 
of  the  big  forepaw  of  a  full-grown  grizzly  will 
knock  down  the  biggest  steer  that  ever  tossed  a 
horn  on  the  Staked  Plains." 

''Then  why,"  asked  Gavan  again,  "doesn't  a 
grizzly  stick  to  that  kind  of  grub?" 

"I  suppose  for  the  same  reason  that  you  don't 


THE  ENTRAPPED  BEAR        237 

want  to  eat  nothin'  but  meat  all  the  while,"  the 
hunter  answered. 

"Why  should  he?  A  bear  is  what  books  call  an 
'epicure.'  He's  a  huge  intractable  despot,  if  you 
like,  but  his  eatin'  is  wide  an'  promiscuous.  No 
other  beast  that  I  ever  heard  of  will  eat  so  many 
different  kinds  of  food  as  a  grizzly.  He  '11  eat  any 
kind  of  fruits,  grubs,  roots,  vegetables  an'  every 
kind  o'  flesh  except  human  an'  coyote.  Old 
Ephraim  just  dotes  on  acorns,  ants,  an'  grass- 
hoppers. He  has  a  likin'  for  apples  an'  peaches, 
in  season,  an'  yet  will  take  all  sorts  o'  risks  with 
his  big  carcass  to  dine  off  a  young  colt.  He'll 
travel  miles  to  lap  wild  honey  from  a  tree  and  will 
eat  watermelons  an'  green  corn  by  the  bushel. 
He  likes  raw  potatoes  an'  will  run  an  awful  chance 
to  snatch  a  porker  from  a  sty.  He  can  make  a 
meal  from  an  ant-hill,  an'  will  rob  birds'  nests 
every  chance  he  gets.  Queerest  of  all  to  see,  I 
think,  is  the  way  he'll  sit  motionless  for  hours  on 
the  bank  of  a  mountain  stream  an'  watch  his 
chance  to  snatch  a  fish  from  the  water. 

"The  bear  isn't  really  a  carnivorous  animal,  ex- 
clusively. Even  the  Polar  Bear,  which  comes 
nearest  to  the  carnivores,  will  eat  berries  on  the 


238    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

Arctic  tundra  in  the  summer-time,  though  his 
regular  meal  is  seal,  young  walrus  an'  fish.  But, 
while  a  bear  is  omnivorous,  I  never  heard  of  a 
grizzly  that  didn't  need  a  meal  of  fresh  meat,  now 
an'  again,  though  much  of  it  seems  to  be  bad  for 
their  stomachs." 

"Why?"  asked  Gavan. 

1 ' Well,"  said  the  hunter,  "I've  noticed  that 
whenever  a  bear  takes  to  eatin '  a  lot  o '  fresh  meat 
— an'  especially  if  he  gets  to  robbin'  farmers  of 
their  pigs — he  seems  to  get  a  violent  indigestion. 
I've  seen  'em,  in  patches  of  camas  or  wild  lily, 
diggin'  up  an'  eatin'  the  pungent,  bitter  roots, 
with  tears  runnin'  from  their  eyes  an'  bawlin' 
with  pain  from  the  burnin'  taste.  That's  the 
same  root,  you  know,  that  some  o'  the  Indians  used 
to  eat  in  famine  time,  mixin'  it  with  clay  so  that  it 
shouldn't  gripe  the  stomach  too  much.  An'  you 
can  take  it  as  good  sign  that  a  bear  which  is  eatin' 
camas  root  is  a  bear  which  has  started  cattle  an' 
hog  killin'  an'  is  a  good  one  to  go  after. 

"Of  course,"  he  continued,  "the  habit  that  most 
bears  have  o'  turnin'  over  stones  to  lick  up  the 
ants'  eggs  an'  the  white  grubs  which  live  beneath 
'em,  affords  a  good  way  of  trackin'  an'  you  would 


Courtesy  of  ('.  S.  Forest  Service. 

WYOMING  BLACK  BEAR  TAKING  HIS  EASE. 


Copyright  by  Frt-ilericJc  K.  Vreeland. 

OLD  UNCLE  EPHRAIM. 

The  grizzly  hear  rarely  becomes  a  cattle-killer,  but  when  he  does,  the 
losses  he  causes  are  enormous. 


THE  ENTRAPPED  BEAR        239 

be  surprised  at  the  size  o'  the  stones  they  can 
turn  over.  Then,  again,  a  rotten  tree  ripped  to 
shreds  is  another  sign  that  a  bear  has  been  feedin' 
on  the  big  white  grubs  that  make  long  galleries 
under  the  bark.  They  will  pick  'em  out  with  their 
long  slender  claws  as  neatly  as  you  could  spear  a 
potato  on  a  fork.  The  armed  feet  of  a  grizzly  are 
a  sort  o'  combination  of  a  crane  an'  a  crowbar, 
a  pick  an'  shovel,  knife,  fork,  spoon,  an'  forceps. 
A  bear  can  use  two  of  his  claws  as  delicately  as  a 
Chinaman's  chopsticks,  yet  a  slap  of  his  paw  is 
like  being  hit  with  the  side  of  a  mountain.  It's 
a  darn  good  thing  that  bears,  as  a  whole,  are  such 
good-natured  beasts  or  they'd  be  more  dangerous 
than  man-eatin'  tigers." 

"But  you  think  an  unwounded  bear  isn't  ever 
dangerous"?"  asked  the  boy. 

"Never,"  said  the  hunter,  with  assurance.  "If 
you'll  let  them  alone,  they'll  let  you  alone.  A 
black  bear  will  scamper  away  like  a  mouse.  A 
grizzly,  especially  a  she-bear  with  cubs,  isn't  so 
easily  scared.  Unlike  most  of  the  wild  folk,  she 
doesn't  get  flurried.  She  isn't  quarrelsome, 
exactly,  as  you  might  say,  but  careful  of  her  dig- 
nity. If  the  trail  is  narrow,  it  is  wiser  for  you  to 


24o    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

make  room  than  to  force  her  to  do  it.  If  you 
step  aside,  she  '11  pass  you  as  politely  as  a  French- 
man. 

''There's  another  thing,  too,  about  bears,"  the 
hunter  continued,  "  an'  that  is  that  there's  more 
individual  variation  among  them  than  there  is 
about  most  kinds  of  animals.  You  can't  always 
tell  what  a  grizzly  is  goin'  to  do,  especially,  as  I 
said,  a  she-bear,  but  there's  one  thing  dead  sure, 
an'  that  is,  that  whatever  she  is  going  to  do  will 
be  done  durn  quick.  The  flat-footed  walk  gives 
the  impression  of  a  slow  animal,  but  the  bear  isn't 
slow-witted.  His  brain  acts  like  chain-lightnin ' 
an'  his  muscles  respond  just  as  quick. 

"When  you  see  a  grizzly,  Gavan,  if  you  ever 
do,  make  up  your  mind  quickly  whether  to  shoot 
or  to  keep  still.  If  you're  goin'  to  shoot,  wait 
until  you  can  get  him  side  on  an'  aim  with  killm' 
effect  in  the  neck  to  break  the  spinal  column.  I, 
myself,  have  seen  a  bear,  shot  through  the  heart, 
go  on  runnin'  at  full  speed  an'  strike  a  blow, 
which,  had  it  reached,  would  have  smashed  me 
into  pulp. 

"I  remember  once — " 

Here  the  hunter  broke  off  suddenly,  as  the  boy 
reined  up  his  pony. 


THE  ENTRAPPED  BEAR        241 

* '  There  are  the  tracks, ' '  said  Gavan. 

The  hunter  smiled. 

"I  saw  them  five  minutes  ago,"  he  said;  "the 
bear  walked  along  this  very  trail  we've  been 
ridin'.  It's  a  grizzly,  I  should  judge,  but  not  a 
very  big  one. ' ' 

"But  the  track!"  exclaimed  Gavan. 

"I  knew  last  night,"  the  hunter  answered, 
"what  had  fooled  you  about  that  track.  It  isn't 
very  wide,  is  if?" 

"No,"  said  Gavan,  "I'd  noticed  that." 

"Now,"  continued  the  hunter,  "if  you'll  think 
for  a  minute,  you'll  see  there  couldn't  be  a  bear 
with  a  track  sixteen  inches  long  an'  only  four  or 
five  inches  wide.  Bears  don't  walk  on  skis!  If 
the  track  is  four  or  five  inches  wide,  it  can't  be 
more  than  nine  or  ten  inches  long. ' ' 

' '  But  this  is ! "  declared  Gavan,  pointing  at  the 
track. 

The  hunter  glanced  at  it  casually. 

"If  you'll  notice,"  he  said,  "the  bear  was  goin' 
down-hill  an'  right  here,  the  hill  has  a  steep 
slope.  When  the  bear  put  his  foot  on  the  soft 
earth  thrown  up  out  of  a  burrow,  naturally  it 
would  slide.  You've  been  measurin'  from  the 
place  where  the  heel  began  to  slide,  to  the  place 


242 


243 


244    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

where  the  toes  were  when  the  foot  stopped  slidin'. 
You  could  have  a  foot  twenty-six  inches  long,  in- 
stead of  sixteen,  if  the  slide  had  been  long 
enough." 

Gavan  colored  with  confusion. 

" Never  mind,  son,"  said  the  hunter,  laughing, 
"every  one's  got  to  learn  some  day.  You've  been 
trappin'  coyotes,  an'  they're  so  light  on  their  feet 
that  you'd  probably  never  see  a  case  of  a  foot 
slidin'.  But  a  bear  is  a  heavy  an'  apparently 
clumsy  creature,  an'  you'll  find,  sometimes,  not 
only  where  his  foot  has  slid,  but  where  all  his  feet 
have  given  way  under  him  an'  he  has  sat  down  on 
his  rear  end  to  toboggan  down  a  shale  slope. ' ' 

"And  I've  brought  you  all  this  way  for  noth- 
ing ! ' '  cried  Gavan,  his  voice  full  of  self -protest. 

"Not  much  you  haven't,"  answered  the  hunter, 
"I  wouldn't  have  brought  the  bait  along  unless  I'd 
thought  there  was  some  reason  for  it.  I  guessed, 
up  at  the  camp,  that  it  was  a  case  of  a  slidin' 
foot,  but  I  didn't  like  to  say  so  until  I  was  sure. 
But,  in  any  case,  Gavan,  the  track  is  one  of  an 
average-size  grizzly,  an',  now  I'm  here,  I'll  set  a 
trap  for  him. 

"Now,  lad,"  he  continued,  "you've  done  a  lot 
of  trapping  although  of  a  different  character. 


THE  ENTRAPPED  BEAR        245 

If  I  were  to  tell  you  to  set  a  trap,  where  would  you 
set  it?" 

The  lad  thought  a  moment. 

"I  don't  think  I'd  know  how  to  begin,"  he  ad- 
mitted. 

"Why  not!" 

''Well,  McLeod,"  the  boy  said,  "I  know  how  to 
set  traps  for  coyotes,  by  using  the  'smell  tele- 
phone,' but  bears  haven't  got  the  same  habits. 
In  any  case,  you're  going  to  use  bait.  I  suppose, 
like  any  trapping,  the  first  thing  to  do  is  to  find 
out  where  the  bears  travel  and  then  set  the  trap 
in  the  least  suspicious  way." 

' '  That 's  the  main  trouble,  with  bears,  though, ' ' 
the  hunter  objected,  "they  don't  travel  regular 
trails.  You  see,  Gavan,  a  wolf  or  a  coyote  hasn't 
got  much  to  turn  him  off  from  his  ordinary  trail. 
He  doesn't  start  huntin'  until  he  gets  the  scent  or 
the  sight  of  his  prey.  He'll  travel,  maybe  for 
miles,  without  ever  gettin'  a  smell  of  anythin' 
which  suggests  food.  A  coyote,  can,  if  necessary, 
go  a  week  without  a  meal. 

1  'It's  different  with  a  bear.  He  comes  out  of 
his  winter-long  sleep  lookin'  maybe  almost  as  fat 
as  when  he  lay  down  three  months  before.  It 
isn't  real  fat,  though,  for  in  a  week  or  two  at  the 


246    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

most,  all  that  fat  disappears.  I  suppose  the  bear 
has  really  been  absorbin '  the  nutritive  value  of  the 
fat  during  his  sleep,  an'  what  remains  is  only 
empty  cells.  Anyway,  a  big  bear  will  lose  a  hun- 
dred pounds  in  weight  during  the  first  two  or 
three  weeks  after  hibernation." 

*  *  Can 't  he  eat  enough  to  catch  up  I "  queried  the 
boy. 

' '  So  far  as  I  can  make  out, ' '  the  hunter  replied, 
" after  his  several  months'  sleep,  his  stomach 
seems  to  be  out  of  order.  He  can't  digest  a  full 
meal.  He'll  start  feedin'  on  grass-shoots,  tender 
roots  an'  the  like.  He  won't  even  eat  ground 
squirrels  or  field-mice,  for  a  few  days.  It's  a 
mistake  to  suppose  that  the  bear  comes  out  of 
hibernation  ravin'  hungry  an'  seekin'  what  he 
may  devour.  A  month  later,  maybe,  but  not  at 
first. 

"But,  as  I  was  savin',  a  bear  isn't  like  a  wolf 
or  coyote  which  can  go  a  long  time  without  a  meal. 
A  bear  eats  all  the  time,  not  because  he's  om- 
nivorous, but  rather,  he's  omnivorous  because  he 
has  to  eat  all  the  time.  That  big  carcass  requires 
a  lot  o'  food  to  keep  it  goin'.  An',  since  his  food 
is  what  he  finds,  rather  than  what  he  catches, 
nearly  every  time  a  bear  crosses  a  mountain 


THE  ENTRAPPED  BEAR        247 

range,  he  takes  a  different  trail.  What  would  be 
the  use  of  turnin'  over  the  stones  he  turned  over 
before,  when  fifty  feet  to  one  side  or  the  other  he'd 
find  a  new  lot,  many  o'  them  concealin'  the  juicy 
though  small  morsels  which  go  to  make  a  meal? 
That's  what  makes  the  bear  such  a  persistent 
traveler,  an'  why  he'll  scramble  up  and  down 
hills,  over  fallen  timber  an'  through  tangled 
underbrush,  where  other  animals  stick  to  regular 
trails." 

"But  they  must  follow  some  well-worn  trails 
through  the  passes,  and  places  like  that,"  the  boy 
suggested. 

"Of  course,"  the  hunter  answered.  "As  you 
know  yourself,  all  these  valleys  narrow  every  once 
in  a  while  to  box  canyons  where  there's  only  one 
trail." 

"Then,"  said  Gavan,  his  eyes  brightening  with 
a  possible  suggestion,  "why  not  put  the  bear-trap 
right  on  one  of  these  trails?" 

The  hunter  laughed  outright. 

"You'd  catch  somethin'  in  such  a  trap,"  he 
said,  "an'  you'd  catch  it  right  away.  But  it 
would  probably  be  a  cow  or  a  horse,  likely.  An' 
a  bear-trap,  weighing  42  pounds,  designed  to 
catch  an'  hold  a  grizzly,  would  break  a  cow's  or  a 


248    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

horse's  leg  like  you  can  snap  the  stem  of  a  clay 
pipe  between  your  fingers.  The  animal  would 
have  to  be  shot,  an'  you'd  have  to  pay  for  it." 

"Yes,"  agreed  the  boy  thoughtfully,  "I  suppose 
you  would.  But  if  you  can't  set  a  trap  in  the 
trail,  and  if  the  bear  doesn't  travel  by  the  same 
path,  and  if  you  can't  lure  him  with  a  scent,  what 
can  you  do?" 

1 '  That, ' '  said  the  hunter,  *  *  is  where  the  trick  o ' 
bear-trappin '  comes  in.  You  have  to  cover  a 
much  wider  range  with  bear-traps  than  for  any 
other  animal,  because  the  bear  rambles  so  much 
an'  his  habits  are  irregular  an'  various.  Just  as, 
in  the  case  o'  the  coyote,  you  have  to  use  caution 
not  to  let  the  man-smell  get  on  your  set;  so,  in 
the  case  of  the  bear,  you  have  to  work  on  another 
sense,  his  curiosity. 

"Now  a  coyote  is  one  of  the  sneakiest  animals 
that  walks.  He 's  not  as  wise  as  the  wolf,  but  he 's 
a  lot  more  timid.  The  bear  is  altogether  different. 
Once  in  a  while  he 's  as  timid  as  a  coyote  or  he  can 
be  wise,  as  wise  of  a  wolf,  but  generally  he 's  just 
a  hulkin'  good-natured  brute.  He  doesn't  like 
man-smell,  any  more  than  any  o '  the  wild  creatures 
do,  but  he's  a  long  way  from  bein'  as  scared  of 


THE  ENTRAPPED  BEAR        249 

it.  He  thinks  he's  quite  able  to  take  care  of  him- 
self an'  often  enough,  he's  willin'  to  take  a  chance. 

' ' Let's  think  a  minute  as  to  a  bear's  habits. 
First  of  all,  he's  a  thirsty  soul,  an'  rambles  along 
near  water.  You're  never  half  as  likely  to  catch 
a  bear  in  a  valley  with  a  dry  creek  as  in  one  with 
runnin'  water.  If  there  are  fish  in  the  stream,  so 
much  the  better,  for  Mr.  Bear  is  a  good  fisherman. 
It's  a  sight  to  see,  the  way  he'll  crouch  beside  a 
stream  an'  when  a  fish  comes  into  sight,  scoop 
him  out  with  a  lightnin'  stroke  of  his  clawed  paw. 
Your  trap,  then,  should  be  set  in  a  valley  where 
there  is  a  runnin'  stream,  but  not  necessarily  near 
the  water. 

"Next,  you  want  to  remember  that  a  bear, 
different  from  a  coyote  or  a  wolf,  isn't  always  on 
the  look-out  for  danger.  He  doesn't  circle 
around  a  bush  or  shrub  because  of  the  fear  that 
it  will  conceal  an  enemy.  He 's  not  afraid  of  two 
trees  growing  closely  together.  On  the  contrary, 
he's  more  apt  than  not  to  pass  between  them." 

"Why?"  asked  Gavan. 

"I  don't  know  in  the  least,"  the  hunter  frankly 
admitted,  u  unless  it  may  be  he  hopes  there  may 
be  a  rotten  log  on  the  other  side  of  them  an'  a 


250    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

meal  of  grubs  to  be  found.  That 's  about  all  I  can 
figure  out  of  it.  Anyway,  lie  nearly  always  does 
it." 

4 'Then,"  suggested  the  boy,  "I  suppose  one 
could  put  a  trap  between  two  trees. " 

"You  could,"  the  hunter  agreed,  "only  you 
don't  always  find  trees  growin'  exactly  that  way, 
or,  if  they  do,  they  might  be  young  trees  which 
have  no  special  attraction  for  the  bear.  He 
knows,  even  better  than  you  do,  the  kinds  of  trees 
which  are  most  likely  to  contain  grubs.  But,  if 
you're  lucky  enough  to  find  two  trees  like  that  in 
or  near  a  trail  which  bears  have  to  travel,  for 
example,  comin'  out  of  a  narrow  canyon,  that 
makes  a  good  place  to  set. 

"At  the  same  time,  Gavan,  don't  forget  the 
question  of  cattle.  Any  twin  trees  which  are  wide 
enough  apart  for  a  bear  to  pass  are  wide  enough 
for  a  yearlin'  to  pass,  an'  you  don't  want  to  catch 
a  yearlin'  in  a  bear-trap.  But,"  and  he  tapped 
his  saddle-horn  lightly,  "there's  a  way  to  stop 
that.  A  bear,  even  a  big  bear,  will  not  stand  more 
than  three  feet  at  the  shoulders,  a  yearlin'  will 
stand  four  feet,  or  higher.  If,  therefore,  you 
fasten  a  pole  across  the  openin'  between  the  trees, 
about  three  feet  six  in  height,  a  bear  will  go  under 


Courtesy  of  "  Outing  "  Alayazlne. 

OUT  FOR   THEIR   FIRST    WALK. 

Bear  cubs  are  born  in  the  winter,  and  generally  their  first  experience  of 
out-o'-doors  is  when  snow  still  lies  on  the  ground. 


THE  ENTRAPPED  BEAR         251 

without  noticin'  it,  but  cattle  will  see  the  pole  an' 
go  round.  That  way,  you  can  put  a  trap  right  in 
the  middle  of  a  cattle  country,  without  bein' 
afraid  of  catchin'  stock. 

"Now,"  he  continued,  "I  noticed  as  I  came 
down,  a  tree  set  just  that  way,  maybe  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  away.  I'll  set  this  trap  there.  Maybe 
we'll  catch  Mr.  Bear,  maybe  not.  But  you  mustn't 
expect,  Gavan,  to  catch  as  many  bear  as  you  do 
coyotes.  If  I  get  a  couple  in  a  month,  I  reckon 
I'm  doin'  well,  while  you  want  a  couple  of  coyotes 
every  night.  That's  the  difference.  Now  I'll 
show  you  how  I  go  to  work  to  set  my  traps,  though 
you've  got  to  remember,  Gavan,  that  no  two  bear- 
traps  are  exactly  alike.  The  sets  have  got  to  vary 
with  the  country.  A  bear  isn't  so  cautious,  but, 
just  the  same,  there's  no  use  o'  doin'  anythin'  to 
awake  his  suspicion. 

"First  of  all,"  the  hunter  remarked,  "if  this 
trap  is  goin'  to  set  between  the  trees,  we've  got 
to  put  the  burro  haunch  on  one  side  of  it.  We 
can't  put  the  bait  on  the  top  of  the  trap,  or  the 
bear  would  come,  pick  up  the  bait  an'  walk  away 
with  it.  Don't  forget  that  the  neck-muscles  of  a 
bear  are  strong  enough  to  enable  him  to  lift  up  an' 
carry  off  a  well-grown  calf,  without  the  animal's 


252    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

hoofs  draggin'  on  the  ground.  So,  we've  either 
got  to  put  the  bait  in  the  middle,  between  two 
traps — which  is  a  very  good  set — or  else  block  up 
one  side,  so  that  the  bear  can  only  approach  the 
bait  from  the  side  in  which  the  trap  is  hidden." 

" Build  a  pen,  then,"  suggested  the  boy,  "and 
put  the  trap  in  the  mouth.  If  a  bear  isn't  suspi- 
cious, he'll  walk  right  in." 

"He  might,"  the  hunter  agreed,  "an'  again, 
he  mightn't.  Makin'  a  pen  of  stakes  driven  into 
the  ground  means  that  every  single  stake  would 
have  the  smell  of  new-cut  wood  an'  the  smell  of 
the  steel  of  the  ax,  as  well  as  the  handlin'  of  each 
stake.  It's  all  right  to  set  a  trap  in  an  old  pen  or 
abandoned  corral  that  the  bear  is  used  to.  But 
I  think  I  can  show  you  even  a  better  plan  than 
that," 

He  dismounted  and  turned  his  horse  loose  to 
graze,  Gavan  following. 

"Here  are  my  two  trees,"  he  said.  "Now  the 
first  thing  to  be  done  is  to  make  sure  that  cattle 
don't  walk  into  the  trap.  There's  a  dead  tree 
lyin'  over  there,  Gavan.  Fetch  it  here." 

"No,"  he  called,  as  the  boy  came  nearer,  "carry 
it  if  you  can,  don 't  drag  it ! " 

The  tree,  probably  seven  inches  at  the  butt,  was 


THE  ENTRAPPED  BEAR        253 

fairly  heavy,  but  the  boy  staggered  along  with  it. 

"Now,"  said  the  hunter,  "we'll  put  the  butt  on 
the  ground  an'  slide  the  tree  itself  between  the 
two  big  trees,  pinchin'  it  tight.  You  can  put  a 
stone  against  the  butt  an'  there  you've  got  a 
natural  obstacle  which  will  keep  any  cow  from 
tryin'  to  go  through,  an'  at  the  same  time  won't 
arouse  a  bear's  suspicions.  Fallen  trees,  caught 
in  other  trees,  are  a  part  of  his  daily  experience. 

"Next,"  he  continued,  "on  the  lower  side  of  the 
trees  we'll  roll  a  big  stone,  not  so  as  to  close  the 
openin',  but  to  keep  the  bear  from  walkin'  toward 
the  bait  that  way.  If  he  comes  down-stream, 
which  is  the  most  likely,  he'll  see  an'  smell  the 
bait  from  the  proper  side,  but  if  he  comes  up- 
stream, he  isn't  likely  to  get  a  whiff  of  it  until 
after  he  has  passed  the  trees.  Then,  if  he  goes 
back  to  get  at  the  meat,  he  '11  put  one  of  his  fore- 
paws  in  the  trap,  an'  bang!  we'll  have  him. 

"Of  course,"  he  added,  as  he  dug  a  hole  in  the 
ground  and  hid  the  trap  in  the  same  manner  that 
Gavan  did  the  traps  for  coyotes,  "the  bait  has  got 
to  be  staked  down  good  and  hard,  lest  the  coyotes 
should  carry  it  away." 

"I  was  just  thinking  about  that,"  said  Gavan. 
"What  will  happen  if  a  coyote  steps  on  the  trap?" 


254    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

"Nothin  V'  answered  the  hunter,  "no  more  than 
when  a  rabbit  runs  over  your  coyote  trap,  or  a 
bird  lands  on  it.  These  bear-traps,  weighing  42 
pounds,  have  got  to  have  a  weight  o'  three  hun- 
dred pounds  to  spring  them.  Maybe,  if  by  chance 
a  full-sized  timber  wolf  happened  to  step  right  on 
the  pan,  the  trap  would  go  off,  but  nothin'  smaller 
would  do  it.  An'  a  timber-wolf  is  as  much  worth 
catchin'  as  a  bear.  Besides,  if  the  bait  is  staked 
down  hard,  before  the  bear  can  succeed  in  pullin' 
up  the  stake,  he  will  be  forced  to  dig  an'  stamp 
round  a  bit,  just  gettin'  his  feet  in  the  trap.  If 
it  were  not  staked,  Mr.  Bear  might  simply  come 
along,  stretch  out  a  long  neck  an'  reachin'  forward 
grab  an'  haul  away  the  meat  without  puttin'  his 
feet  in  the  spot  so  nicely  fixed  up  for  him." 

This  work  had  taken  some  time,  and  the  morn- 
ing was  wearing  along  before  it  was  completed. 

"Before  we  start  to  catch  a  mess  of  fish  for 
lunch,"  the  hunter  then  said,  "we  might  as  well 
visit  the  other  bear-trap  th?t  I  have  in  this  gully. 
I  haven't  caught  anythin'  in  the  set  for  over  two 
months,  but  you  never  can  tell.  It  ought  to  be  a 
good  set.  Some  bear  or  other  had  killed  a  horse 
there,  durin'  the  winter,  an'  though  there's  nothin' 
left  but  the  bones  an'  a  few  shreds  of  hide,  I've 


THE  ENTRAPPED  BEAR        255 

noticed  that  there's  fresh  sign  along  the  gully 
every  few  weeks  or  so." 

The  two  rode  along  quietly,  when  suddenly  a 
faint  sound  was  heard,  not  much  louder  than  the 
creaking  of  one  tree  against  another,  but  the 
hunter's  horse,  a  mettlesome  brute,  a  bigger  ani- 
mal than  the  cow-ponies  of  the  neighborhood, 
reared  and  tried  to  bolt. 

"Bear!"  said  the  hunter.  "We've  got  him. 
Got  a  halter  on  your  horse?" 

"Yes,"  said  Gavan. 

"Tie  him,"  said  the  hunter,  dismounting,  "an' 
tie  him  right.  There's  nothin'  that  a  horse  is  so 
much  afraid  of  as  a  bear.  Your  gun  loaded?" 

"Sure!"  answered  Gavan. 

"Take  it,"  said  McLeod.  "It  doesn't  pay  to 
take  any  chances  with  a  bear. ' ' 

"But  you're  leaving  yours,"  protested  the  boy. 

The  hunter  partly  pulled  out  his  six-shooter. 

"This  is  a  Luger,"  he  said,  "with  foreign  am- 
munition, and  while  I  don't  know  that  it's  any 
more  powerful  or  accurate  than  a  Colt  or  any 
other  American-made  gun,  I  know  that  it  will 
break  a  bear 's  neck,  if  shot  right.  I  'II  tackle  any- 
thing with  that  in  my  'chapps'  pocket.  Are  you 
ready?  Come  along." 


256    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

With  every  sense  alert,  Gavan  followed  the 
hunter. 

"The  trap  was  set  back  there  a  ways,"  the 
hunter  said,  "but  Mr.  Bear  has  been  tryin'  to  get 
away." 

"How  can  he?"  asked  the  boy,  "don't  you  stake 
the  trap?" 

"No,  siree!"  the  hunter  answered,  "I  don't 
even  try.  Didn't  you  notice?  The  chain  of  the 
trap  is  fastened  to  a  log,  which  acts  as  a  clog.  He 
can  drag  it,  but  not  fast. ' ' 

An  angry  roar  rolled  up  the  creek  valley. 

"Black  bear,  I  should  reckon,"  remarked  the 
hunter,  staring  down  at  the  faintly  distinguishable 
tracks,  "but  a  good-sized  one." 

"We  ought  to  see  him  pretty  soon,"  said  Gavan, 
excitement  surging  through  him  and  his  voice 
singing  in  his  ears  as  though  it  came  from  far 
away. 

Then,  so  close  that  the  echoes  of  it  trembled 
in  the  ears  with  the  vibration  like  thunder,  the 
trapped  bear,  as  yet  unseen,  cried  his  resentment 
and  distressed  alarm.  The  cry  broke  from  his 
throat  hoarsely  and  menacingly,  a  bestial  threat- 
ening of  fury  yet,  at  the  end  of  it,  was  a  small 


THE  ENTRAPPED  BEAR        257 

almost-human  whimper,  a  little  tremolo  of  fear, 
perhaps,  or  at  least  of  uncertainty. 

Breasting  their  way  through  the  dense  shield 
of  juniper  and  gray  live-oak  thickets,  Gavan  and 
the  hunter  had  come  so  close  now  that  they  could 
hear  the  long  sobbing  breaths  of  the  bear  as  he 
wrestled  with  that  devilment  of  steel  on  his  paw, 
that  mechanism  of  evil,  which  had  no  life  in  itself 
and  yet  clung  so  fast  and  pained  so  desperately. 
Again  a  clang  resounded  through  the  forest  as  he 
struck  the  trap  against  a  tree,  even  as  a  man  with 
a  toothache  grinds  his  teeth  although  it  intensifies 
the  pain. 

A  coughing  growl  broke  from  the  yet  hidden 
creature,  and  in  the  stillness  that  followed,  Gavan 
heard  the  bear 's  fangs  go  crunching  in  a  shocking 
rage  against  the  hardened  metal. 

Once  more  he  bawled,  then  crashing  through  the 
shrubs  he  came  full  into  view. 

A  big  black  bear,  menacing  in  his  proportions, 
he  lurched  out  into  the  open.  Even  in  his  agony, 
he  could  not  escape  the  ungainly  human-like  char- 
acter which  has  ever  made  a  black  bear  the  moun- 
tebank of  the  woods.  There  was  an  infinite 
pathos  in  his  clown-like  movements,  the  more  so 


258     WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

that  one  felt  that  they  were  terrible.  Blood 
streaked  his  slavering  jaws  where  he  had  bitten 
the  trap  and  his  Jttle  eyes,  set  deeply  like  a  pig's, 
glittered  with  alarm  and  anger. 

He  saw  the  two  men,  shortsighted  though  he 
was,  and,  too  full  of  suffering  to  be  wary,  lunged 
forward. 

As  he  heaved  his  great  shoulder  forward,  limp- 
ing, the  clog,  dragging  on  its  chain,  clinched 
against  the  roots  of  a  scrub-oak  and  halted  him 
with  a  jerk.  The  bones  of  his  foreleg,  crushed  by 
the  pressure  of  the  42-pound  trap,  must  have 
burned  like  fire  and  this  wrench  tore  at  his  nerve. 
Still,  heeding  more  his  anger  than  his  pain,  he 
lurched  forward  only  to  be  dragged  back  again  as 
the  pliant  but  tough  scrub-oak  yanked  back  on 
his  broken  wrist.  In  rage  he  struck  at  it  and 
stretched  out  his  foreleg,  but  the  clog  was  fast  on 
the  tree. 

The  roar  turned  to  a  whimper,  like  a  child  who 
has  been  punished  for  what  fault  it  knows  not, 
then,  clown-like,  the  hulking  shape  sat  down  on  the 
ground,  like  a  man,  and  tried  to  break  the  trap 
free. 

But  the  strength  of  it,  or  his  own  keen  agony, 
was  too  much.  Turning  his  back  on  his  two  foes, 


THE  ENTRAPPED  BEAR        259 

he  limped  on  three  legs  to  the  tree,  freed  the  clog, 
and  then,  like  a  fiend  in  his  passion,  stood  up, 
hugging  the  trap  to  his  breast,  and  struck  against 
a  great  cottonwood  tree  that  stood  near  by,  bere- 
sark  in  his  rage. 

Under  these  strokes,  the  bark  flew  like  bullets 
and  every  blow  scored  through  to  the  wood  be- 
neath. But  this  sudden  flight  of  passion  ended  as 
swiftly  as  it  came ;  he  dropped  back  and  whimper- 
ing anew,  mawed  over  the  griping  steel. 

Poor  creature,  all  his  craft,  all  his  wit,  all  his 
cunning  had  come  to  this!  His  marvellous 
strength,  sufficient  to  have  torn  limb  from  limb  the 
two  human  beings  who  stood  staring  at  him,  was 
made  of  naught  by  this  piece  of  steel;  his  tre- 
mendous vitality,  able  to  range  the  wildest  moun- 
tains in  the  fiercest  weather,  was  sapped  by  that 
iron  clutch. 

Poor  creature,  the  fault  was  not  his.  No  cattle- 
killing  grizzly  this,  but  a  rumbling  big  black  bear, 
who  perhaps,  but  not  surely,  might  once  or  twice, 
in  his  life  have  dined  on  lamb  or  veal,  yet  who  had 
stumbled  into  the  fate  made  for  his  biggers  if 
not  his  betters.  There  were  tears  in  the  boy's 
eyes  as  he  watched  the  clown  of  the  woods  in  his 
agony. 


26o    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

"Do  you  want  to  shoot  him?"  asked  the  hunter, 
willing  to  give  Gavan  the  pride  of  killing  a  bear. 

But  the  boy  shook  his  head  and  turned  away. 

"You  shoot,"  he  said,  "I  didn't  trap  the  poor 
beggar." 

A  revolver  shot,  just  one,  rang  out  in  the  woods. 
There  was  a  coughing  growl,  a  clank  of  steel  as  the 
trap  fell  for  the  last  time. 

The  clown  of  the  woods  was  dead. 


^fe 


CHAPTER  IX 

A    FIGHT    WITH    FIVE    GRIZZLIES 

"WE  mightn't  have  got  off  that  easy,"  re- 
marked the  hunter,  a  minute  or  two  later,  as  he 
stood  over  the  prostrate  carcass  and  commenced 
to  give  his  skinning  knife  an  extra  sharpening  on 
the  whetstone  that  he  always  carried,  "if  that  had 
been  a  grizzly.  I've  seen  grizzlies,  even  with  a 
trap  on  one  foot,  rise  on  their  hind-legs,  clasp  the 
heavy  clog  to  their  chest  like  a  woman  does  a  child 
an'  make  a  rush." 

'  *  But  would  they  be  dangerous,  all  crippled  that 
way?"  asked  the  boy. 

*  *  Dangerous  enough.  A  beast  that  can  lift  with 
his  jaws  a  steer  weighin'  800  pounds  an'  drag  it 
away  isn't  put  out  of  business  because  he's  got  a 
trap  on  his  foot.  It  only  makes  him  madder.  It 
keeps  him  from  runnin'  fast,  that's  all,  an'  if 
you're  spry  enough  an'  your  guns  are  workin'  all 
right,  you  can  best  him,  every  time.  But  even 
when  trapped  they  put  up  an  ugly  scrap." 
261 


262     WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

1  'Did  you  ever  have  a  scrap  with  a  grizzly?" 
Gavan  asked. 

The  hunter  shook  his  head. 

''There's  no  need  for  me  to,"  he  said.  "I'm 
not  huntin'  grizzlies  for  sport  an'  thrillin'  with 
excitement  an'  the  danger.  Bear-huntin'  an' 
trappin'  is  my  business.  I  make  my  livin'  at  it. 
I  suppose  you'd  call  me  a  professional.  I  don't 
trap,  unless  I'm  pretty  sure  of  a  catch,  an'  I  don't 
shoot  unless  I'm  sure  of  a  kill.  Nearly  all  these 
stories  of  hand-to-hand  encounters  with  grizzlies 
are  due  to  one  thing — a  shot  that  has  wounded  an' 
not  killed. 

"Any  kind  of  game  that's  dangerous  should 
only  be  hunted  with  the  best  weapons — as  you 
remember,  Gavan,  Blue  Joe  Keary  was  killed,  not 
because  he  was  a  poor  shot,  but  because  his  gun 
exploded.  An',  besides  that,  huntin'  dangerous 
big  game  needs  caution  more  than  anythin'  else. 
If  I  had  a  piece  of  advice  to  give  to  a  young  sports- 
man, it  would  be: 

"  'Never  shoot  unless  you've  got  the  weapon  to 
be  sure  to  kill  with,  an'  are  near  enough  an'  skil- 
ful enough  to  be  sure  of  a  killin '  aim. ' 

"One  of  the  liveliest  grizzly  fights  I  personally 
know  about  happened  to  my  side-partner,  'Uncle 


FIGHT  WITH  FIVE  GRIZZLIES     263 

Ned  Clark'  'n  Wyoming.  He  an'  another  fellow, 
half  a  city  man,  half  ranchman,  got  mixed  up  with 
five  grizzlies  at  the  same  time." 

"How  did  they  come  out?" 

"They  came  out  all  right,"  said  the  hunter,  con- 
tinuing to  skin  the  trapped  bear  as  he  narrated. 
"I'll  tell  it  to  you,  as  near  as  I  can,  in  the  words 
of  the  ranchman,  who  wrote  up  the  story  in  a  mag- 
azine an'  sent  me  a  copy.  I've  read  an'  told  the 
yarn  so  often  that  I  know  it  pretty  well  by  heart 
for,  although  I've  been  huntin'  bears  all  my  life, 
as  I  said  to  you,  I've  had  very  few  wild  experi- 
ences. 

"This  is  the  yarn:1 

"  'My  first  savings  in  life,'  wrote  this  chap, 
Elmer  Frank,  'were  invested  in  the  7HL  horse 
ranch,  located  in  the  heart  of  the  mountains  of 
Wyoming,  my  brand  numbering  about  800  head. 
This  was  my  outfitting  point  and  thither  would  I 

i  Mr.  Caspar  Whitney,  one-time  editor  of  Outing  and  a  sports- 
man himself  of  world-wide  eminence,  secured  complete  corrobora- 
tion  of  this  story  from  two  other  members  of  the  party,  one 
of  them  being  Judge  H.  J.  David,  a  United  States  judge.  The 
other  member  of  the  party  dressed  the  wounds  of  the  injured 
men,  found  and  skinned  the  grizzlies  and  went  over  every  foot 
of  the  scene  of  the  extraordinary  combat.  The  story  is  regarded 
by  bear -hunters  as  one  of  the  most  unusual  authentic  accounts 
on  record. 


264    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

fly  at  the  earliest  approach  of  Indian  summer, 
that  indescribably  dreamy,  restful  season,  only 
experienced  in  its  full  glory  along  the  base  of  the 
main  range  of  the  Eockies. 

"  'On  the  occasion  to  which  this  narrative  re- 
fers, I  was  accompanied  by  six  guests,  to  wit,  a 
United  States  Judge,  an  army  captain,  two  Omaha 
lawyers,  an  ex-sheriff  of  Missouri,  a  British  capi- 
talist, an'  to  me,  most  important  of  all,  a  full- 
fledged  Texas  cowboy,  without  whose  brave  and 
timely  assistance  this  story  would  never  have  been 
penned. 

"  'His  name  is  Clark,  Ed  Clark,  " Uncle  Ned" 
the  punchers  call  him,  which  would  indicate  age. 
As  he  was  not  forty,  this  was  one  of  these  unac- 
countable misnomers  peculiar  to  the  far  West.  He 
is  far  from  handsome,  resembling  in  form  one  of 
his  own,  gnarled,  timber-line  scrub  cedars,  rather 
than  the  slender  growth  of  the  lower  altitude  pine. 
His  wicked  little  eyes  are  black  and  piercing  and 
when  animated,  rival  the  rattlesnake's  in  their 
scintillations  of  venomousness.  Yet,  when,  crawl- 
ing from  under  a  dying  bear,  bruised,  wounded 
and  faint  from  loss  of  blood,  I  saw  that  rugged 
face  through  the  willows  not  ten  yards  away,  hail- 


FIGHT  WITH  FIVE  GRIZZLIES     265 

ing  me  with  words  of  cheer,  it  had  a  halo  sur- 
rounding it. 

"  'It  was  a  battle  royal,  covering  a  period  of 
about  twenty  minutes,  the  details  of  which,  as  I 
saw  them,  will  ever  remain  indelibly  stamped  on 
my  memory. 

"  'Five  grizzly  bears,  weighing  not  less  than 
600  pounds  each,  threw  down  the  gage  of  battle.1 
The  issue  was  promptly  accepted,  from  necessity, 
as  there  was  no  escape,  and  the  fight  was  on. 

"  'Our  camp  was  pitched  in  Halleck  Canyon,  at 
the  headwaters  of  several  streams  flowing  in  dif- 
ferent directions,  through  a  broken  and  moun- 
tainous country.  Game  was  in  abundance  and  our 
party  had  bagged  its  quota  of  elk,  deer,  antelope, 
and  mountain  sheep.  No  bears  had  been  sighted 
as  yet,  though  at  our  nightly  campfire  comparisons 
of  the  day's  events,  each  party  had  wonderful  tales 
to  relate  of  encountering  innumerable  trails,  fresh 
beds,  mutilated  carcasses  of  game  and  other  bear 
sign  indicating  that  they  were  banded  together  in 
bunches  ranging  as  high  as  thirteen.'  " 

"Thirteen!"   interrupted    Gavan   in    surprise. 

i  The  author  feels  that  Mr.  Frank's  statement  here  is  a  trifle 
misleading.  As  the  story  itself  shows,  the  fight  was  forced  on 
the  bears.  They  made  no  attack  until  fired  on. 


266    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

"Isn't  that  a  large  number  for  a  sloth  of  bears!" 

"It  certainly  is,"  the  hunter  answered,  "six  is 
as  many  as  I  ever  saw  together.  Maybe  the  tracks 
looked  like  a  lot  more.  That  happens. 

"Anyway,  that  particular  morning,  all  the 
party  except  Clark  an'  Frank  made  an  early  start 
to  try  an '  trail  the  big  sloth  of  bears  whose  tracks 
had  been  seen  crossin'  a  mountain  meadow. 
Frank  was  not  feelin'  well  and  Clark  stayed  to 
keep  him  company.  He  goes  on  to  tell  the  story : 

"  'About  three  o'clock  Clark  proposed  that  we 
ride  out  and  kill  a  mess  of  blue  grouse  for  our 
companions,  who  would  come  home  hungry  after  a 
long  chase,  and  we  might  prepare  a  smothered 
feast  for  them  against  their  homecoming.  We 
thereupon  saddled  our  horses  and  proceeded 
about  two  miles  to  the  canyon  of  a  little  creek, 
where  a  small  lake  had  been  formed  by  fallen 
rocks  turning  the  current  of  the  stream. 

"  'Here  we  came  upon  hot  bear  sign. 

"  'After  a  hurried  examination,  Clark  ex- 
claimed : 

tt  i  "Tney  are  here  on  this  creek — the  tracks 
are  fresh — we  flushed  'em  when  we  rode  up,  an' 
we're  goin'  to  make  a  killin'  sure." 


FIGHT  WITH  FIVE  GRIZZLIES     267 

"  'Here  it  is  necessary  to  state,'  Frank's  story 
states,"  the  hunter  continued,  "  'that  the  horse 
I  rode  on  that  day  was  a  natty  powerfully-built 
cow-horse,  swift  as  an  antelope  and  mettlesome 
as  a  Kentucky  racer.  He  was  the  pick  of  eight 
hundred,  and  when  he  scented  the  bears,  he  be- 
gan to  grow  troublesome.  However,  I  forced  him 
up  the  creek  towards  a  patch  of  willows,  about 
seventy-five  feet  in  width,  the  direction  which  the 
bears  had  taken,  Clark  leading  the  way. 

"  'These  mountain  willows  grow  in  bunches, 
their  branches  spreading  and  interlacing  at  the 
tops,  thereby  making  an  almost  impenetrable 
thicket. 

"  'Here  our  quarry  evidently  had  retreated,  and 
a  royal  stronghold  it  was.  On  the  opposite  side 
a  perpendicular  cliff  arose,  several  hundred  feet 
in  height,  with  a  ledge  about  six  feet  in  width 
paralleling  it  and  peering  about  three  feet  above 
the  top  of  the  willows.  On  our  side  of  the  creek, 
the  canyon  broadened  into  a  sage-brush  flat  of 
about  two  hundred  yards  in  width  and  abutted 
against  the  willows,  forming  an  almost  perpendi- 
cular embankment  about  twelve  feet  in  height. 

"  'We  were  forcing  our  horses  up  onto  this  flat, 


268    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

despite  their  bucking  with  distended  nostrils  at 
the  smell  of  the  bears,  when  Clark  excitedly  ex- 
claimed : 

"  '  "And,  by  thunder,  there  they  are!" 
"  "The  bush  seemed  to  be  alive  with  them  as 
they  growled  and  leaped  about  and  one  big  fellow 
stood  on  his  hind  legs,  with  his  head  and  breast 
towering  above  the  top  of  the  willows,  deliberately 
surveying  us,  and  hailing  us  with  inquisitive 
grunts.'  " 

Here  the  hunter  broke  off.  He  had  finished 
the  skinning  of  the  black  bear  that  had  been  caught 
in  the  trap  and  the  energies  of  both  he  and  Gavan 
were  needed  to  lift  the  heavy  bearskin  and  fasten 
it  on  the  saddle  of  the  hunter's  pony,  the  horse 
dancing  around  like  one  possessed,  at  the  prox- 
imity of  the  bear  smell.  Large  chunks  were  cut 
off  from  the  hams — for  bear-meat  is  the  finest 
kind  of  eating — and  the  tongue  was  removed  as  a 
delicacy.  The  skull  was  disarticulated  and  partly 
cleaned,  afterwards  being  staked  to  the  ground 
near  an  ant-hill  for  the  little  creatures  to  finish 
the  work  of  cleaning  the  skeleton.  The  meat, 
wrapped  in  a  sack  to  keep  from  being  blown  by 
the  flies,  was  packed  on  Gavan 's  saddle,  and  the 
homeward  ride  to  camp  was  begun. 


FIGHT  WITH  FIVE  GRIZZLIES     269 

"You  were  saying,"  said  Gavan,  as  soon  as  the 
narrow  canyon  was  passed  and  the  trail  ran 
through  a  small  flat  where  two  ponies  could  ride 
abreast,  "  that  Frank  had  just  seen  the  bears,  and 
that  an  old  chap  was  standing  on  his  hind  legs 
sizing  u^  the  party. ' ' 

"Sure,"  said  the  hunter,  "I'll  go  on. 

"  'Clark's  horse  was  a  gentle  old  pack  animal, 
and  he  had  no  trouble  in  quickly  dismounting 
and  withdrawing  his  Winchester  from  its  saddle 
sling.  He  took  deliberate  aim  and  fired,  Old 
Bruin  dropping  dead  in  his  tracks.' 

"It  certainly  wasn't  the  bears  who  started  the 
trouble,  then,"  the  boy  remarked.  "All  the  old 
fellow  had  done  was  to  look  at  the  two  hunters." 

"Sure,"  agreed  McLeod,  "Clark  and  Frank 
were  looking  for  trouble.  An'  they  found  it — in 
bunches ! 

"  'During  this  short  period,'  Frank's  story  goes 
on,  'I  had  succeeded  in  dismounting  and  was 
fighting  my  horse  in  a  vain  endeavor  to  get  my 
Winchester,  in  turn,  from  its  saddle  sling.  The 
horse  reared,  plunged  and  kicked  viciously,  but  I 
held  his  bit  with  one  hand  and  the  gun  with  the 
other  until  Clark  fired  his  rifle.  Then  the  con- 
founded beast  gave  a  mighty  leap  into  space, 


270    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

broke  my  hold,  sent  me  rolling  into  the  sage-brush 
and  ran  off  with  my  gun.' 

"Now,"  remarked  McLeod,  "  a  cautious  man, 
havin'  no  gun,  would  have  made  off  at  once  to 
catch  his  horse.  There's  no  kind  of  use  stayin' 
around  bears  without  a  gun,  an'  no  man  Jlvin'  can 
protect  two  people  with  one  rifle.  The  huntin' 
fever  had  got  into  Frank's  head,  I  guess,  for  he 
goes  on  to  say: 

'  *  *  When  I  regained  my  feet,  the  commotion  was 
still  going  on  in  the  brush  and  another  bear  got 
on  a  rock  and  stood  erect.  Clark  began  to  get  a 
little  excited  and  exclaimed, 

"  '  "The  woods  is  full  of  'em!    Look  at  'em!" 

"  'I  told  him  to  keep  his  head  and  blaze  away, 
which  he  did,  wounding  this  fellow,  who  dropped 
off  his  perch  and  began  to  bawl  and  kick  up  a 
great  row  generally. 

"  'Immediately  three  other  bears  stood  on  their 
hind-legs,  and  the  wounded  one,  regaining  his  feet, 
they  came  for  us  with  growls  of  rage. 

"  'This  was  too  much  for  me,  being  armed  only 
with  a  knife  and  the  bears  not  ten  jumps  away. '  ' 

"Pretty  late  to  think  about  moving!"  com- 
mented Gavan,  as  he  fell  behind  at  the  narrowing 


FIGHT  WITH  FIVE  GRIZZLIES     271 

of  the  trail,  waiting  anxiously  until  the  creek 
valley  should  open  again  and  give  him  the  chance 
of  hearing  the  rest  of  the  story,  which  was  re- 
sumed as  soon  as  the  trail  widened. 

"  'I  told  Clark,'  Frank's  story  continues,  'that 
I  was  going  to  quit  him  and  rustle  my  gun,  which 
I  proceeded  to  do.  As  soon  as  I  turned  tail,  I 
ran  for  the  horses,  by  this  time  about  a  hundred 
and  fifty  yards  away.  Fortunately,  the  reins  of 
my  horse  had  gotten  entangled  in  the  sage  brush, 
thus  securely  holding  him. 

"  'As  I  ran  for  dear  life,  I  heard  the  sage  brush 
cracking  behind  me,  but  no  more  shots.  I  did 
not  dare  look  around,  as  I  expected  Clark  was 
down,  and  was  mortally  afraid  that  a  bear  would 
grab  me  at  every  jump,  so  was  intensely  relieved 
when  he  chirped,  close  at  my  back, 

«  <  "They  made  it  too  hot  for  me — my  car- 
tridges ran  out — I  had  to  quit  'em." 

"  'Although  he  had  plenty  in  his  belt,  his  gun 
was  empty  and  he  was  too  closely  pressed  to  re- 
load. 

"  'I  scrambled  up  the  embankment  and  he 
followed  me  closely.  Thinking  discretion  the  bet- 
ter part  of  valor,  he  had  not  halted  after  firing  the 


272     WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

second  shot,  hence  neither  of  us  knew  whether,  at 
this  first  charge,  the  bears  reached  the  edge  of  the 
embankment  on  which  we  stood. 

"  '  We  hastily  secured  our  horses,  and  I  removed 
my  gun  from  the  saddle-sling,  making  sure  that  it 
was  loaded.  Clark  also  reloaded  and  we  re- 
turned to  the  field  to  redeem  ourselves  from  the 
stigma  of  so  hasty  and  undignified  a  flight.' 

"You  see,  Gavan,"  McLeod  continued,  "even 
after  bein'  wounded,  the  bears  made  only  one 
charge,  an'  when  the  men  cleared  out,  they  were 
ready  enough  to  let  'em  alone.  Nothing  very 
quarrelsome  about  those  grizzlies,  eh?" 

"I  should  say  not,"  the  boy  answered,  "I  should 
have  thought  that  wounded  one,  anyway,  would 
have  kept  after  the  men.  He'd  have  got  them, 
too,  if  he  had,  before  they  could  have  got  their 
guns  out  and  reloaded." 

"You'll  see  why  the  bear  didn't,"  McLeod  con- 
tinued, and  went  on : 

"  'We  rode  up  and  down  the  willow  patch, 
hallooed  and  threw  rocks  into  it,  but  no  sign  of 
life  gave  answer. 

' '  '  Thinking,  of  course,  that  the  bears  had  taken 
flight  up  the  canyon,  for  they  had  to  go  either  up 


FIGHT  WITH  FIVE  GRIZZLIES     273 

or  down  to  get  away,  we  followed  the  creek  up 
towards  the  extreme  timber  line,  beating  the  brush 
and  exploring  every  possible  hiding  place. 

"  'A  hasty  examination  failed  to  disclose  any 
trail  in  that  direction  and  we  at  once  returned  to 
our  battleground,  about  three  miles  down  the 
creek,  feeling  sure  that  we  would  rout  them  out 
below  that  point. 

11  'On  our  arrival  there,  we  dismounted,  went 
into  the  bush,  dressed  the  dead  bear  and  dragged 
him  out  with  our  lariats  attached  to  the  horns  of 
our  saddles. 

"  '  As  before  stated,  the  willows  grew  in  bunches 
and  interlaced  at  the  tops  and  I  was  compelled  to 
walk  in  a  crouching  position  and  at  times  to  crawl 
on  my  hands  and  knees.  I  could  not  see  ten  feet 
ahead  of  me  and  was  thereby  greatly  handicapped. 

"  'I  had  not  proceeded  twenty  yards  from  the 
point  where  Clark  had  left  me  when  I  was  greeted 
with  a  terrible  growling  and  the  crackling  rush  of 
a  heavy  body. 

"  'I  fired  and  was  embraced,  it  seemed  to  me, 
almost  simultaneously. 

"  'The  bear's  mouth  was  wide  open  and  he 
towered  'way  above  me.  I  distinctly  remember 


274    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

that,  and  instinctively  ducked  my  head,  knowing 
that  it  would  be  crushed  like  an  eggshell  if  ex- 
posed. 

"  'For  this  reason,  when  we  came  together,  I 
found  my  head  upon  his  shoulder  and  im- 
mediately clinched  him  around  the  body,  holding 
on  for  dear  life  and  calling  to  Clark  as  I  went 
down  under  him. 

"  'Of  course,  I  had  no  idea  of  time,  when  in 
that  position,  but  Clark  estimates  it  to  have  been 
five  or  six  minutes  before  he  reached  me  and  fired. 

"  'He  said  he  responded  to  my  call  immediately 
and  was  guided  to  the  spot  by  the  racket  that  the 
old  bear  was  making.  He  had  to  move  slowly 
and  cautiously  for  the  thicket  was  full  of  bears  and 
he  knew  that  if  he  got  mixed  up  with  one  himself, 
he  would  have  no  opportunity  of  coming  to  me. 

"  'He  was  at  a  point  only  fifteen  feet  away 
when  he  caught  the  first  glimpse  of  us. 

"  'He  crouched  down  and  waited  some  time  for 
the  bear  to  expose  a  fatal  spot  at  such  an  angle 
that  he  could  dare  to  fire  without  the  chance  of 
hitting  me. 

"  'He  saw  that  I  was  alive  and  staying  with  him. 

"  'He  could  not  shoot  him  in  the  heart,  for  my 
head  was  there,  nor  could  he  see  Bruin's  head,  and 


FIGHT  WITH  FIVE  GRIZZLIES     275 

he  dared  not  move  further  for  fear  of  attracting 
the  attention  of  the  other  bears  and  bringing  them 
down  upon  him. 

"  'Becoming  desperate,  unable  longer  to  stand 
the  suspense  and  the  bear's  back  now  being 
turned  to  him,  Clark  took  deliberate  aim  and 
fired,  the  bullet  entering  the  bear 's  hip,  plowing  its 
way  just  outside  the  ribs  and  lodging  in  the  neck. 

' '  *  There  was  a  terrific  crashing  of  brush,  growl- 
ing and  bawling  echoed  all  around  me.  Which- 
ever way  I  looked,  I  could  see  bears  either  rising 
on  their  hind-legs  to  look  or  rushing  to  and  fro. 

"  'My  bear  would  rise  up  with  me,  shake  me 
like  a  rat  and  chuck  me  down  again,  threatening 
to  loosen  every  joint  in  my  body,  but  I  realized 
that  my  only  hope  was  to  hold  on.  Suddenly  I 
felt  his  teeth  tearing  at  my  hip,  the  only  spot  of 
my  anatomy  he  could  reach  with  his  mouth,  and 
he  literally  tore  my  trousers  and  part  of  my  heavy 
calf-skin  shapps  from  me.  Had  it  not  been  for 
the  latter,  he  would  have  made  short  work  of  my 
leg,  then  and  there. 

"  'I  was  in  desperate  straits  and  had  almost 
given  up,  thinking  that  Clark  had  deserted  me. 

'  *  '  Then  the  thought  of  my  knife  in  a  scabbard 
at  my  left  side  spun  into  my  mind  like  a  dream.  I 


276    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

let  go  my  right  grip,  worked  my  hand  between 
the  grizzly's  harsh  fur  and  my  body,  and  reached 
my  knife. 

11  'To  my  horror  I  found  it  was  tied  to  the 
scabbard  with  a  buckskin  string,  which  I  used  to 
keep  the  knife  from  jumping  out  of  the  scabbard 
when  I  was  in  the  saddle.  I  tried  hard  to  untie 
or  break  it,  but  Old  Bruin  did  not  see  it  that  way. 

"  'He  let  go  my  hip  and  seized  my  hand, 
crunching  through  and  through  it.  I  never  ex- 
pected to  see  my  hand  again. 

"  'In  my  dire  distress,  I  thought  nothing  of  it 
at  the  time.  It  was  only  one  hand!  Did  I  not 
have  another  one  still  left  me  ?  I  was  just  loosen- 
ing my  grip  of  the  bear  with  it. 

"  'Just  at  that  second,  to  my  indescribable  joy, 
I  heard  the  sharp  report  of  a  Winchester,  not 
twenty  feet  away. 

"  'It  was  Clark. 

"  'I  quickly  struggled  to  my  feet,1  seized  my 
gun  and  turned  just  in  time  to  see  poor  Clark  go 
down  under  the  now  doubly  enraged  and  wounded 
bear. 

i  It  would  appear  from  this  that  the  bear  released  Frank  im- 
mediately upon  receiving  Clark's  shot,  although  the  writer  of  the 
narrative  does  not  definitely  say  so.  • 


FIGHT  WITH  FIVE  GRIZZLIES     277 

"  'It  struck  wickedly  at  him  with  its  paw,  hit- 
ting the  gun  and  sending  it  spinning  in  the  air. 

"  'True  to  hunters'  tradition,  Clark  played 
'possum  in  an  admirable  manner.  He  saw  me  get 
on  my  feet,  so  he  said  afterwards,  and  thought  I 
would  kill  the  bear  before  it  hurt  him  very  badly, 
hence  he  lay  perfectly  still.  But  in  this  he  was 
doomed  to  disappointment.  My  gun  was  full  of 
sand  and  refused  to  work.  I  threw  down  the 
lever  and  began  working  the  sand  out  of  it  as 
rapidly  as  possible. 

"  'I  saw  my  task  was  useless,  the  magazine  re- 
fused to  give  up  its  cartridges. 

"  'It  was  an  awful  moment  of  suspense. 

"  'I  forgot  myself  in  the  quiet  valor  of  poor 
Clark. 

' '  '  One  wrench  on  the  lever  and  it  sprang  back 
into  place,  but  no  cartridge  came  with  it. 

"  'I  could  only  work  with  my  left  hand,  and  the 
third  finger  of  my  right,' — and  it  must  have  been 
torture  to  move  that  mashed  hand,"  the  hunter 
commented — "  'but  I  quickly  snatched  a  cartridge 
from  my  belt  and  was  thrusting  it  into  the  barrel 
when  another  bear  leaped  on  me  from  Sam  knows 
where!  I'm  sure  I  don't. 


278    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

"  'I  went  down  in  a  heap  under  the  crushing 
weight,  and  poor  Clark's  heart  almost  stopped 
beating  when  he  heard  me  call: 

n  <  "Here  comes  another  one !  I  can't  help  you 
now!  He's  got  me  again!" 

"  'I  don't  believe  this  bear  hurt  me  at  all,  unless 
it  was  my  left  arm,  which  had  several  teeth-holes 
in  it  and  was  pinched  until  it  was  black  from  wrist 
to  shoulder  the  next  morning,  but  I  have  no  recol- 
lection of  when  it  was  done. 

'  *  *  This  bear  had  evidently  been  wounded  by  one 
of  our  shots,  for  he  tore  at  the  ground  and  chewed 
at  the  willows,  all  the  time  he  was  over  me,  almost 
burying  me  in  dirt  and  broken  sticks. 

"  'Presently  there  was  another  roar  and  a  crash 
and  Tophet  broke  loose  again,  which  evidently 
attracted  my  bear,  as  he  left  me  suddenly  as  he 
had  attacked. 

"  'I  was  nearly  used  up,  but  I  had  enough 
strength  left  to  regain  a  sitting  position  and  get 
hold  of  my  gun  once  more,  when  Clark's  bear,  see- 
ing me  move,  left  him  and  came  for  me. 

11  'I  verily  believe  I  made  the  last  effort  I  was 
capable  of  at  the  time,  and  just  as  he  was  com- 
ing down  on  me,  I  poked  my  Winchester  blindly 
at  him  and  pulled  the  trigger. 


FIGHT  WITH  FIVE  GRIZZLIES     279 

"  'He  fell  dead  with  his  head  on  my  chest,  knock- 
ing the  breath  out  of  me  and  I  lapsed  into  uncon- 
sciousness. My  nap  must  have  been  a  short  one, 
for  I  was  awakened  by  Clark  calling  out: 

"  «  "Stay  with  'em,  Frank.  You  hit  that  one,  I 
saw  him  fall.  Give  him  another. ' ' 

"  'I  opened  my  eyes,  looking  into  those  of  the 
dead  bear  on  top  of  me.  He  didn't  look  a  bit 
dead,  and  it  was  a  few  moments  before  I  could 
persuade  myself  to  make  an  effort  to  move,  and 
when  I  did  so,  it  was  as  gingerly  as  one  would 
walk  on  eggs,  fearing  he  would  suddenly  awaken 
and  make  up  for  lost  time. 

"  'With  considerable  pain  and  labor,  however,  I 
succeeded  in  extricating  myself,  and,  bareheaded, 
barelegged,  with  blood  and  sand  smeared  and 
plastered  over  me  from  head  to  foot,  torn,  bleed- 
ing, and  sore,  I  dragged  myself  toward  Clark, 
who  had  retreated  to  and  mounted  the  stone  ledge 
on  the  outer  side  of  the  brush. 

"  'I  had  nearly  reached  him. 

' '  '  He  was  standing  on  the  ledge  waiting  to  help 
me  up.  As  I  came  nearer  he  asked  me  if  I  was 
much  hurt.  I  told  him  I  felt  as  though  I  were 
chewed  to  a  sausage,  but  that  I  was  indebted  to 
him  for  my  assistance. 


28o    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

"  'Just  at  this  moment,  the  remaining  three 
bears  came  on  another  furious  charge. 

"  'We  fought  them  off  three  or  four  times,  blaz- 
ing away  as  they  would  leap  over  the  brush  to- 
wards us,  before  I  succeeded  in  reaching  the  ledge. 
The  smoke  of  our  guns  seemed  to  bewilder  them, 
for,  after  a  volley,  they  would  jump  up  into  it, 
bite  and  smack  at  it  with  their  paws,  and  then  re- 
treat to  their  den,  which,  we  then  discovered,  was 
within  a  few  feet  of  the  place  where  they  had 
me  in  chancery. 

"  'After  the  last  charge  they  seemed  content  to 
lie  quiet,  so  Clark  walked  up  the  ledge  about  fif- 
teen yards  to  try  to  peer  into  the  den.  He  called 
to  me  that  he  could  see  the  entrance,  and  to  look 
out  as  he  would  throw  a  stone  into  it.  As  he 
threw,  I  fired. 

"  'We  were  answered  by  a  howl  and  two  bears 
came  straight  at  me. 

' '  '  Two  lucky  shots  from  my  rifle  finished  them, 
and  they  died  in  each  other's  arms  at  my  feet  near 
the  foot  of  the  ledge. 

"  'Clark  was  wild  with  delight.  He  was  sure 
that  there  was  only  one  more  and  that  one  badly 
wounded,  as  he  was  making  the  canyon  ring  and 
echo  to  his  wails  of  pain,  so  he  washed  my 


FIGHT  WITH  FIVE  GRIZZLIES     281 

wounds,  tearing  our  handkerchiefs  and  shirts  into 
bandages  to  do  the  best  piece  of  dressing  possible 
under  the  circumstances. 

11  'We  then  deliberately  sat  down,  for  the  first 
time  since  the  battle  began,  and  discussed  how  we 
should  dispose  of  the  remaining  bear,  who  was 
still  as  noisy  as  ever.  Clark  proposed  to  set  fire 
to  the  bush  and  burn  him  out,  but  it  would  not  do 
thus  to  destroy  our  precious  pelts,  and  beside, 
my  only  hat  and  the  only  one  procurable  within 
a  hundred  miles — was  under  one  of  the  bears. 

"  'Dusk  was  on  us,  and  we  must  act  quickly, 
whereupon  we  determined  to  assault  the  den. 

11  'We  arrived  within  twenty  or  thirty  feet  of 
our  quarry,  when  a  gust  of  wind  blowing  down  the 
canyon  parted  the  willows  and  disclosed  the  old 
fellow  lying  on  his  stomach  with  his  head  on  his 
forepaws,  as  if  resting.  I  sent  a  bullet  quickly 
to  his  heart  and  quieted  him  forever. 

"  'It  was  now  almost  dark  and  after  dressing 
our  game,  we  struck  out  for  camp  which  we 
reached  about  nine  o'clock. 

"  'In  all  the  encounter,  Clark  was  fortunate 
enough  not  to  receive  a  scratch,  and  this  fact 
should  be  explained,  if  susceptible  of  explanation. 
Old  hunters  say  that  a  badly  wounded  grizzly  will 


282    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

seize  and  hold  on  to  the  first  object  within  reach 
and  expend  its  remaining  strength  in  a  desperate 
endeavor  to  rend  it  to  atoms.  I  have  seen  this 
fact  verified  in  at  least  half  a  dozen  instances. 

"  'In  this  case,  when  the  bear,  on  being  wounded 
from  the  rear,  sprang  off  me  in  its  leap  for  Clark, 
it  grabbed  a  mouthful  of  willows  and  was  crunch- 
ing at  them  while  over  him,  he  meanwhile  quietly 
playing  'possum.  This  might  explain  why  the 
second  bear  did  not  make  mincemeat  of  me,  as  both 
of  them  died  with  their  mouths  full  of  brush.'  " 

The  latter  part  of  the  'Story  had  been  broken 
by  frequent  interruptions,  as  the  trail  narrowed  or 
became  too  rough  for  the  two  ponies  to  ride 
abreast,  and  had  been  finished  by  the  hunter  after 
Gavan  and  he  had  arrived  at  camp. 

"I  can  show  you,"  said  the  hunter,  stopping 
for  a  moment  the  cooking  of  supper  which  had 
already  been  begun,  "the  letter  sent  by  Judge 
David  backing  up  the  story." 

He  disappeared  into  his  small  tent  and  appeared 
again  with  a  small  magazine-clipping  which  he 
read  out  loud : 

"I  believe  it  was  in  the  fall  of  '89,"  the  letter 
ran,  "when  our  party  was  in  Wyoming.  I  re- 


FIGHT  WITH  FIVE  GRIZZLIES     283 

member  very  distinctly  that  all  of  the  party  ex- 
cept Clark  and  Frank  were  out  hunting  during 
the  day,  and,  returning  in  the  evening,  we  were 
told  that  Frank  and  Clark  had  gone  out  late  in  the 
afternoon  after  grouse. 

"It  was  twilight  when  Estabrook  (another  of 
the  members  of  the  party,  who  also  wrote  cor- 
roborating the  story)  and  I,  who  were  bathing  in 
the  stream  a  short  distance  from  the  camp,  were 
disturbed  by  the  crazy  shouts  of  Clark  and  Frank 
returning  to  camp.  They  were  the  most  victory- 
intoxicated  men  I  ever  saw,  notwithstanding  that 
Frank  was  scratched  and  bitten  in  several  places, 
though  not  seriously. 

"We  hastened  to  the  camp,  and  the  party 
gathered  and  was  told  the  story  of  the  fight  with 
the  five  grizzlies,  as  Frank  has  written  it.  As  I 
remember,  Frank  was  bitten  in  one  hand,  in  the 
arm,  and  in  the  buttock.  We  treated  the  wounds 
in  the  best  way  we  could  and  were  somewhat 
afraid  of  blood-poisoning.  You  may  be  assured 
that  we  got  very  little  sleep  that  night  and  were 
out  early  in  the  morning. 

"We  found  the  five  grizzlies,  which  had  been 
cut  open  and  eviscerated  by  Clark  and  Frank  be- 
fore they  returned  to  camp.  We  all  pitched  in 
and  skinned  the  five  bears.  I  should  say  that 
they  were  four  or  five  years  old. 

"Of  course  we  went  through  the  bushes  and  had 
the  story  repeated  over  and  over  to  us.  The  con- 
dition of  the  bushes  and  the  earth  was  evidence 
enough  of  a  desperate  contest,  if  any  one  had  for 
a  moment  doubted  the  story. 

"You  are  at  liberty  to  use  this  letter  in  any 
proper  way  you  choose." 


284    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

The  hunter  folded  up  the  clipping  and  returned 
it  to  its  place  in  the  little  raw-hide  box  which  held 
his  main  treasures  in  camp. 

I  'You  see,  Gavan,"  he  said,  returning,  " there 
is  a  real  grizzly  story.     But  it 's  all  wrong  to  bring 
that   forward   as   an   example   of   an   attack   by 
grizzlies.    In  the  first  place,  Clark  fired,  merely 
on  seein'  the  big  bear.    In  the  second  place,  even 
after  knowin'  that  there  was  a  wounded  grizzly  in 
the  thicket,  Frank  crept  among  the  bushes,  as  he 
says  himself,  where  it  was  so  thick  that  he  couldn  't 
see    ten    feet    in    advance.     That's    not    exactly 
courage,  that's  foolhardiness.     The  only  wonder 
is  that  he  got  off  so  easily. 

II  On  the  other  hand,  Clark's  advance  through 
the  bushes  was  sheer  courage.     He  was  comin' 
to  the  rescue  of  his  friend.    I  asked  him,  when 
he  told  me  the  story,  why  he  had  shot  at  the  rear 
of  the  bear.     He  said  he  was  afraid  that  Frank's 
strength  could  not  hold  out  much  longer  an'  he 
thought    that    the   bear   might    be    maulin'    him 
badly.     But  Frank's  grit,  in  gettin'  his  gun,  an' 
shootin'  with  his  right  hand  all  chawed  to  pieces, 
was  fine.     I  certainly  never  heard  before  of  two 
men  killin'  five  bears  in  such  a  close  struggle, 
nor  of  one  man  killin'  four   of  them  when  he 


Courtesy  of  "  Outing  "  Magazine. 

THE   TWO-HUNDRETH    CHRISTMAS   RECEPTION. 

The  Hudson  Bay  Company  factor  is  a  chief  connecting-link  between  the 
pioneer  trapper  and  the  trapper  of  to-day. 


FIGHT  WITH  FIVE  GRIZZLIES     285 

was  able  to  use  only  one  finger  of  his  right  hand." 
"But  I  always  supposed,"  said  the  boy,  "that 
any  fight  with  a  grizzly  was  likely  to  be  that  way. 
The  stories  in  books  always  say  so." 

"Yes,"  said  the  hunter,  "an',  in  a  way,  the 
books  are  right.  But  every  one  who  has  hunted 
big  game  in  the  Rockies  will  tell  you  that  there's 
a  big  difference  in  temper  an'  ferocity  between 
Old  Ephraim  of  to-day,  an'  the  grizzled  old  fel- 
lows of  which  Kit  Carson  an'  the  frontiersmen 
used  to  tell  in  the  early  days. 

"When  you  stop  to  think  of  it,  Gavan,  it's  small 
wonder  that  the  grizzly  used  to  be  considered  mar- 
velously  invulnerable  an'  tenacious  of  life.  The 
bear-hunters  of  fifty  years  ago  were  armed  with 
a  long,  single-barreled,  small-bored  pea  rifle,  in 
which  the  bullets  ran  seventy  to  the  pound.  A 
modern  .32  caliber  rifle  carries  only  a  slightly 
heavier  ball  than  the  rifles  of  the  early  bear- 
hunters,  but  there  is  no  comparison  as  to  its 
penetration  an'  killin'  power.  The  old-time 
muzzle-loader  was  so  crude  an'  uncertain  of  fire, 
that  there  is  nothhi'  with  which  to  compare  it  in 
these  days  of  breech-loadin'  repeaters,  scientific 
ammunition,  an'  fine  adjustment  of  missiles  to  the 
bore.  One  can  understand,  then,  what  grit  it 


286    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

must  have  taken  to  confront  the  biggest  an'  most 
savage  of  American  wild  beasts  an'  run  so  many 
chances  of  inflictin'  a  painful  wound  only,  which 
would  instantly  transform  a  peaceful  beast  into 
a  concentration  of  bestial  fury  an'  vengeance. 

"An'  even  modern  ammunition  will  not  always 
stop  a  grizzly.  When  wounded,  he  will  face  a 
battery  of  Gatling  guns.  The  moment  he  feels 
pain,  he  becomes  'a  horror  in  fur  and  claws,'  as 
I  heard  a  bear-hunter  say  once.  It's  a  good 
phrase,  too,  for  when  a  mad  grizzly,  at  full  height 
on  his  hind-legs,  with  his  fore-paws  extended,  his 
great  head  swingin'  from  side  to  side,  his  big 
red  mouth  open  and  slaverin',  comes  straight  at 
you  with  a  speed  not  much  short  of  a  railroad 
train,  it's  either  a  very  courageous  man  or  one 
who  hasn't  any  nerves  at  all,  that's  goin'  to  face 
his  foe  without  a  qualm. 

"The  vitality  of  a  mature  grizzly  is  almost 
beyond  the  belief  of  any  one  who  has  had  no 
huntin'  experience  among  them.  There  are  sev- 
eral instances  of  grizzlies  havin'  traveled  one  or 
two  hundred  yards  after  havin'  been  shot  through 
the  heart.  I  suppose  the  best-known  example  of 
this  was  in  Oregon,  where  Senator  Edwards  was 
chased  for  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile  over  fallen 


FIGHT  WITH  FIVE  GRIZZLIES     287 

logs  an'  through  dense  chaparral  by  a  bear  whose 
heart,  as  it  was  afterwards  found,  had  been 
pierced  by  no  less  than  four  rifle  balls. 

•'No,  my  boy,  it  isn't  wise  to  fool  with  a  grizzly. 
Only  a  fool,  or  a  man  under  compulsion,  will  go 
after  a  grizzly  alone,  an'  any  man,  alone,  who 
fires  at  a  grizzly  without  knowin'  exactly  where 
he  will  go  an'  what  he  will  do  in  case  the  shot 
doesn  't  prove  fatal,  is  likely  to  sign  his  own  death- 
warrant. 

''Records  of  bear-hunters  are  full  of  surprises, 
but  I  think  the  most  extraordinary  happenin'  I 
ever  heard  of,  happened  to  my  partner  in  Mon- 
tana. He  had  shot  a  bear  an'  the  creature  had 
fallen  apparently  dead  at  the  first  shot.  This 
chap,  Tinden  by  name,  Big  Jack  Tinden,  came  up 
cautiously  enough,  but  the  bear  seemed  dead.  He 
laid  down  his  rifle  an'  pulled  out  his  pipe  an' 
box  of  matches  for  a  smoke  before  skinnin'  the 
bear. 

"At  that  second,  the  bear  suddenly  seemed  to 
wake  up  an'  made  o  lunge  at  Big  Jack,  who, 
bein'  unable  to  jump  back  because  of  a  big  log 
behind  him  an'  knowin'  the  danger  of  bein' 
thrown  on  his  back  with  face  an'  stomach  ex- 
posed to  the  beast's  claws,  dived  forward  on  the 


288     WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

ground,  under  the  bear,  an'  played  'possum. 
The  bear  didn't  hurt  him,  but  half  crouched,  half 
lay  on  him,  growlin'.  Jack  had  a  Colt's  in  his 
belt,  but  he  couldn't  get  at  it.  One  hand  still  held 
the  pipe,  the  other  the  box  of  matches. 

"A  brilliant  idea  struck  him.  He  struck  a 
match  an'  set  fire  to  all  the  matches  in  the  box, 
at  the  same  moment  throwin'  the  blazin'  box  be- 
hind him  so  that  it  fell  just  under  the  bear's  face. 
With  the  wild  animal's  natural  fear  of  fire,  the 
grizzly  leaped  to  one  side,  freein'  Big  Jack,  who 
whirled  round,  drew  his  revolver  an '  pumped  lead 
into  the  wounded  creature  so  fast  he  never  moved 
from  his  tracks.  He  was  dead  before  the  box  of 
matches  had  ceased  to  burn. 

''It's  a  great  sport,  bear-huntin ',  one  that  taxes 
the  best  that  there  is  in  a  man,  an'  it's  a  good 
thing  that  the  Government  has  a  close  season  on 
bear,  for  it  would  be  a  pity  to  see  the  grizzly 
disappear  entirely  from  the  Eocky  Mountains." 

"But  you  trap  them!"  the  boy  declared. 

"As  I  said  to  you  once  o.fore,"  the  hunter  an- 
swered, "the  Government  isn't  tryin'  to  trap  all 
grizzlies.  There  are  outlaw  grizzlies  in  America, 
just  as  there  are  outlaw  men.  When  a  grizzly 
gets  to  cattle-killin '  or  becomes  a  marauder  and 


FIGHT  WITH  FIVE  GRIZZLIES     289 

a  robber,  he's  a  criminal,  an'  as  a  criminal,  he's 
got  to  be  caught.  Trappin'  is  an  art,  not  a 
slaughter,  an'  the  trapper  must  know  not  only 
how  an'  when  to  trap,  but  also  understand  the 
habits  of  his  quarry.  The  United  States  is  not 
tryin'  to  destroy  wild  animals,  but  to  prevent 
criminality  in  the  animal  kingdom  as  well  as  in  the 
human  race." 


CHAPTER  X 

RAIDERS   OF   THE    NIGHT 

A  FEW  weeks  after  his  return  from  the  bear- 
hunter's  camp,  and  while  working  on  his  alfalfa 
field,  diverting  the  water  from  a  branch  of  his 
irrigation  ditch,  so  that  it  would  spread  uniformly 
over  the  land — for  the  summer  had  been  very 
dry — Gavan  saw  his  former  enemy,  Antonio,  rid- 
ing up  the  trail  to  his  place. 

The  boy  stiffened,  but  went  forward  to  greet 
his  neighbor,  wondering  what  new  trouble  was  in 
the  wind.  He  had  taken  the  pains  to  learn 
Spanish  the  winter  before  and  whenever  he  got 
a  chance,  and,  accordingly  he  was  able  to  greet 
the  newcomer  in  his  own  tongue. 

"Good  day,"  was  the  latter 's  reply;  "very 
hot!" 

"Yes,"  agreed  the  boy,  wondering  what  was 
coming,  "it  is  hot." 

"Plenty  of  luck  with  traps?"  queried  the  Mexi- 
can. 

"Nothing  to  complain  of,"  was  the  boy's  an- 
290 


RAIDERS  OF  THE  NIGHT       291 

swer.       "I     got     eleven     coyotes     last    week." 

The  Mexican  threw  one  leg  over  the  horn  of  his 
saddle  and  commenced  to  roll  a  cigarette. 

"You  trap  wild-oat!"  he  asked. 

Gavan  looked  a  little  surprised,  for  he  could 
not  see  where  these  inquiries  led. 

"Sometimes  I  find  a  bob-cat  in  one  of  my 
traps,"  he  said,  "not  often,  because  I'm  going 
after  coyotes.  What  catches  one  won't  catch  the 
other." 

"One  time  I  catch  plenty  wild-cat,"  said  the 
Mexican,  "now,  no  more.  Last  week,  ten  chicken 
gone,  last  night  six.  My  traps  sprung." 

The  boy  became  interested. 

"What's  the  matter  with  your  traps?"  he  asked. 

The  Mexican  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Some  one  spring  my  traps  every  night,"  he 
said,  with  vindictive  meaning. 

Gavan 's  eyes  narrowed.  The  last  two  years 
had  not  only  broadened  his  shoulders,  but  steeled 
his  character.  He  remembered  the  trouble  he  had 
suffered  at  this  man's  hands,  when  he  was  quite 
a  boy,  and  he  was  not  prepared  to  stand  any  more 
nonsense. 

"You  mean,"  he  said,  threateningly,  "that  you 
suspect  me  of  springing  them?" 


292     WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

The  Mexican's  gaze  shifted. 

1  'No,  no,"  he  said,  lamely,  "I  do  not  say  that. 
But,"  and  he  faced  the  boy  again,  "they  are 
sprung  every  night.  A  wild  cat  will  not  do  that." 

"Go  to  the  deuce,"  answered  Gavan,  shortly, 
'  *  and  take  your  dirty  suspicions  somewhere  else. ' ' 

The  Mexican  did  not  shift  his  ground. 

1  *  Last  night,  my  traps  sprung, ' '  he  said.  * '  Last 
night,  you  not  at  home." 

"No,"  said  the  boy;  "I  went  over  to  the 
pueblo." 

"Two  weeks  ago  my  traps  sprung,"  the  Mexi- 
can continued,  "and  that  night  you  not  at  home. 
What  do  you  say?" 

"I  say  that  you're  looking  for  trouble,"  the 
boy  replied. 

"Ten  of  us,"  said  the  Mexican,  "have  seen  the 
traps  sprung,  and  have  seen  that  you  were  not 
at  home.  You  not  believe  me?  I  swear  by — " 
here  he  uttered  a  most  sacred  local  reference — 
"that  it  is  as  I  say." 

Gavan  sobered  down  somewhat.  He  knew 
enough  of  Mexican  character  to  realize  that  if  the 
colony  came  to  believe  that  he,  in  a  spirit  of  re- 
venge, had  sprung  these  traps,  he  would  have  the 
whole  Mexican  population  against  him.  He  had 


RAIDERS  OF  THE  NIGHT       293 

taken  pains,  during  the  past  two  years,  to  con- 
ciliate his  neighbors. 

"You're  sure,"  he  said,  thoughtfully,  "that  the 
traps  have  really  been  sprung." 

The  Mexican  repeated  his  adjuration. 

"You  can  see  for  yourself,"  he  said. 

Gavan  leaned  on  the  handle  of  his  hoe  and 
looked  up  at  the  seated  figure. 

"I  believe  you're  telling  the  truth,  Antonio," 
he  said,  "and  I'll  swear,  if  you  like,  that  I  never 
touched  your  traps.  Oh,  I  know  that  isn't  enough 
to  satisfy  you,"  he  added,  quickly,  as  the  Mexi- 
can made  a  restless  motion  in  his  saddle,  "but  we 
can  do  something  more  than  that. 

"You  say  that  something  or  some  one  has 
sprung  your  traps'?" 

'  *  For  sure ! ' '  Antonio  answered. 

"Then,"  said  the  boy,  "that  something  or  some 
one  has  left  tracks.  You  know  as  well  as  I  do  that 
it  is  impossible  to  go  along  a  trap  line  and  not 
leave  some  trail.  If  on  foot,  there  is  the  track 
of  a  shoe;  if  on  horseback,  the  track  of  a  horse. 
No  two  shoes  just  the  same,  no  two  horse's  hoofs 
just  the  same.  If  you  like,  I  '11  go  along  with  you 
and  examine  the  ground.  If  there's  any  track  to 
be  found,  it  won't  be  mine.  As  I've  told  you,  I 


294    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

was  at  the  pueblo  last  night.  But  we'll  try  to 
find  out.  Is  that  fair?" 

"Good,"  said  Antonio.  "But  you  will  find 
nothing.  I  look  myself. ' ' 

Gavan  made  no  reply,  but  he  thought  to  himself 
that  Antonio's  examination  of  a  trail  meant  little. 
Years  of  painful  training  had  taught  him  how 
really  difficult  it  was  to  decipher  the  faint  signs 
of  a  trail.  He  saddled  his  pony  and  rode  with 
the  Mexican  to  the  slopes  of  the  hills  directly  be- 
hind his  irrigated  land. 

"Have  you  caught  many  bob-cats  this  winter 
and  spring?"  he  asked. 

"Twenty-four,"  Antonio  replied. 

Gavan  opened  his  eyes  in  surprise.  He  had  no 
idea  that  there  were  so  many  bob-cats  in  the 
mountains. 

"You  get  good  prices  for  the  fur?"  he  con- 
tinued. 

"Plenty  money  in  winter,"  was  the  answer, 
"little  in  spring.  Nothing  in  summer.  I  keep 
traps,  now,  only  to  protect  my  chickens.  Fur  no 
good. ' ' 

Conversation  languished,  as  the  trail  narrowed. 
Nothing  more  was  said  until  Antonio  pulled  up 
his  pony. 


Courtesy  of  "  Outing"  Magazine. 

PUSSY — BUT  NOT  DOMESTIC! 

The  bay  lynx,  or  hob-cat ;  compare  with  the  heavier  build  of  the  Canada 
or  true  lynx  shown  in  the  lower  picture. 


Courtesy  of  "  Outing"  Magazine. 

"DON'T  GO  TOO  CLOSE!  " 

The  trap  was  set  for  coyote,  but  it  caught  a  lynx.    There's  always  one 
fight  more  left  in  a  lynx  until  lie's  dead. 


RAIDERS  OF  THE  NIGHT       295 

"First  trap,"  he  said,  pointing  10  the  ground. 

Gavan  dismounted.  He  examined  the  ground 
around  the  trap  carefully.  There  was  not  a  sign 
of  a  human  foot,  and  the  only  hoof-marks  were 
those  of  a  mule. 

"There's  no  one  been  here,"  he  said.  "These 
tracks,"  and  he  pointed  to  the  hoof -marks,  "are 
of  a  mule,  not  a  pony.  Have  you  been  riding  your 
trap  line  on  a  mule?" 

"Yes,"  the  Mexican  declared  truthfully,  and  a 
little  surprised,  "I  ride  a  mule." 

"And  without  shoes?" 

"Without  shoes,"  the  Mexican  agreed. 

"No  other  hoof -marks  here,"  the  boy  said, 
"and  no  footmarks  at  all.  But,"  he  continued, 
"what's  this?" 

He  pointed  to  a  faint  smudge  on  the  ground. 

The  Mexican  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"I  don't  see  anything,"  he  declared. 

"Well,  I  do,"  Gavan  asserted.  "It  looks  like 
a  bear  track,  only  it  would  have  to  be  a  pretty 
small  bear." 

The  Mexican  leaned  over  from  his  saddle  and 
looked  closely. 

"Not  a  bear-track,"  he  said.  "Much  too 
small." 


296     WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

" Might  be  a  dwarf  bear,"  said  Gavan,  thought- 
fully, ''although  it's  true  I  never  heard  of  one. 
And  any  cub  as  small  as  that,  wouldn't  be  far 
away  from  its  mother.  We  ought  to  see  the 
mother's  track  around  here  pretty  soon." 

"Yes,"  agreed  the  Mexican  skeptically,  "if  it's 
the  track  of  a  cub.  But  I,  me,  I  do  not  think  it  is 
a  bear." 

"Lead  ahead,"  said  the  boy,  piqued  by  this 
reply.  "Let's  see  what  we  find  at  the  next 
trap." 

The  Mexican  made  a  mocking  reply,  to  which 
Gavan  paid  no  heed.  He  had  another  problem  to 
settle.  How  could  a  bear  cub,  ignorant,  as  all 
bear  cubs  would  be,  of  the  ways  of  traps,  travel 
alone  along  a  trail,  and  spring  a  trap?  One  case 
might  happen  by  accident,  but  not  a  second. 

*  *  Trap  Two ! ' '  said  the  Mexican,  stopping  at  the 
foot  of  a  tree. 

As  before,  Gavan  dismounted  and  examined  the 
ground  carefully.  As  before,  the  hoof-marks  of 
Antonio's  mule  were  quite  plain,  but  there  were 
no  footmarks  to  be  seen.  On  the  other  hand,  clear 
as  print,  was  this  smudged  track  resembling  that 
of  a  bear  cub.  only  it  seemed  rounder  and  lighter. 

Gavan  pointed  to  it  without  a  word. 


RAIDERS  OF  THE  NIGHT       297 

Antonio  answered  with  a  shrug.  It  did  not  need 
much  knowledge  of  the  habits  of  bears  to  see  the 
mystery  in  these  tracks. 

The  two  rode  on.  Gavan  examined  the  ground 
carefully,  as  he  rode,  but  never  once  did  he  see 
a  sign  either  of  the  queer  bear  cub,  if  it  were  a 
cub  and  not  a  dwarf  bear  or  a  deformed  creature 
of  some  kind.  Still  less  did  he  see  any  sign  of 
the  mother  bear,  though,  more  than  once,  dusty 
ground  around  a  village  of  ground-squirrel  bur- 
rows gave  ample  opportunity  for  a  satisfactory 
footmark. 

The  third  trap  was  even  more  definite.  The 
tracks  of  the  weird  bear  were  not  only  scattered 
all  around  the  trap,  but,  upon  the  steel,  good-sized 
scratches  on  the  steel  showed  where  the  trap  had 
been  seized  and  thrown  to  one  side,  after  having 
been  sprung. 

"Ever  see  anything  like  that!"  asked  Gavan, 
holding  out  the  trap. 

The  Mexican  looked  at  it  intently. 

"Those  marks  are  new,"  he  declared,  "they 
were  not  there  when  I  set  the  trap." 

"Well,  you  don't  think  I  took  it  up  in  my  teeth, 
do  you?"  queried  the  boy,  in  fine  scorn.  "Be- 
sides, what  tracks  are  those?" 


298     WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

He  pointed  at  the  smudged  dwarf  bear  tracks 
scattered  around  the  ground.  If  the  mark  at  the 
first  trap  had  been  indeterminate,  that  could  not 
be  said  of  the  later  two.  The  third,  especially, 
was  surrounded  by  claw  marks.  The  dwarf  or 
cub  bear,  or  whatever  kind  of  creature  it  was,  had 
not  only  sprung  the  trap  and  eaten  the  bait,  but 
had  wantonly  torn  up  the  ground.  There  seemed 
a  certain  savageness  expressed  in  the  tracks  alto- 
gether inconsistent  with  the  character  of  a  bear. 
Besides,  the  evidence  was  clear  that  the  bait  had 
not  been  abstracted  by  human  hands,  but  that  it 
had  been  eaten  by  an  animal. 

"You  must  be  crazy,  Antonio,"  said  the  boy, 
"to  suppose  that  I  came  here  in  the  middle  of  the 
night  to  take  a  dinner  of  live  prairie  dog,  and 
to  eat  it,  skin,  insides  and  everything,  leaving  only 
a  few  bones  and  some  bits  of  fur!" 

The  Mexican's  ideas  were  shaken.  He  rolled 
the  inevitable  cigarette  and  only  answered, 

"Something  or  some  one  sprung  the  traps." 

"Well,  then,"  declared  the  boy,  brusquely,  "do 
you  think  I  did  that?"  and  he  pointed  to  the 
ground. 

The  Mexican  was  no  fool.  In  his  heart  he  was 
convinced  that  Gavan  had  something  to  do  with 


RAIDERS  OF  THE  NIGHT      299 

it,  but  the  evidence  all  pointed  the  other  way. 
Although  willing  enough  to  suggest  by  innuendo 
that  Gavan  had  been  responsible  for  the  dirty 
trick  of  springing  the  traps,  he  was  not  prepared 
to  make  his  accusation  to  the  boy  himself. 

"Yes,  an  animal  did  that  for  sure,"  the  Mexi- 
can answered,  "but  what  kind  of  animal?  Dog, 
eh?" 

This  was  a  hint  that  Gavan 's  dogs  had  been 
mixed  up  in  the  affair,  but  Gavan  only  answered 
by  pointing  to  the  ground. 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Antonio,"  he  said,  roughly; 
"you  know  better  than  that.  Those  are  not  dog's 
tracks." 

It  was  useless  for  the  Mexican  to  suggest  that 
they  were.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders  again. 

' ' Look  here, ' '  said  the  boy.  ' '  Let 's  bait  and  set 
those  traps  again.  I'll  guarantee  to  stay  home 
for  the  next  three  nights.  Then  you  can  come 
again  and  find  out  if  the  traps  are  sprung.  If  a 
bear  is  doing  it,  he  won't  know  anything  about  the 
plan,  and  will  go  on,  and  then  you  can  be  sure 
it  isn't  up  to  me.  Of  course,  that  would  only 
prove  something  if  the  traps  are  sprung,  but  it's 
worth  a  trial.  Do  you  agree?" 

The  Mexican  nodded  and  the  two  rode  back  to 


300    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

Antonio's  place,  where  he  had  a  number  of 
ground-squirrels  in  a  pen,  which  he  had  caught  by 
box  traps,  for  live  bait.  Gavan  took  these  and 
rode  back  along  the  Mexican's  short  trap  line, 
resetting  the  traps  and  staking  down  the  bait. 

Three  days  later,  by  appointment,  Antonio  and 
Gavan  met  for  a  further  investigation  of  the 
mystery.  It  was  evident  that  the  Mexican  was 
skeptical,  and  Gavan  had  been  aware  that  he  had 
been  closely  spied  on  during  the  past  three  days. 
But,  when  they  came  to  the  wooded  section,  the 
boy's  expectations  were  fulfilled. 

Every  trap  was  sprung. 

"I  never  knew  a  bear  to  do  that  before,"  was 
Antonio's  grudging  admission  of  the  boy's 
original  declaration  that  the  traps  had  been 
sprung  by  an  animal. 

"Nor  did  I,"  agreed  Gavan,  "and  I  tell  you 
what,  Antonio,  it's  up  to  us  to  get  that  bear. 
Judging  from  the  size  of  the  track  he  must  be  a 
small  one.  If  you're  willing,  I'll  take  up  two  or 
three  of  my  No.  4  traps — they  ought  to  be  big 
enough — and  I'll  set  those  along  the  line.  Maybe 
he's  been  springing  these  traps  by  standing  on 
them,  and  his  foot  is  so  big  that  it  covers  both 
jaws  as  well  as  the  pan.  You  see,  your  No.  2 


RAIDERS  OF  THE  NIGHT       301 

traps  have  only  a  spread  of  4  7/8  inches,  and  even 
if  a  bear  stepped  on  the  pan  and  on  one  of  the 
jaws,  that  would  keep  the  spring  from  coming 
up  and  the  trap  would  not  be  sprung  until  the 
bear's  foot  was  lifted  off  it." 

" That's  not  the  way  a  bear  acts,"  declared  the 
Mexican,  shaking  his  head,  "but  if  you  think  you 
can  catch  him,  go  ahead." 

Gavan  perceived  that  the  question  was  much 
graver  than  it  appeared.  He  realized  that  unless 
he  could  definitely  catch  that  queer  bear,  and  solve 
the  mystery  of  the  tracks,  he  would  be  under 
suspicion  from  the  Mexicans.  Besides,  his  pride 
as  a  trapper  was  concerned. 

The  boy  had  set  the  line  of  traps  with  all  the 
skill  of  which  he  was  capable,  and  this  dwarf 
bear,  or  whatever  it  was,  had  sprung  them,  one 
after  the  other,  searching  out  each  trap  and  tak- 
ing the  bait.  The  boy  knew  that  bears  possess  a 
keen  nose,  but  this  trailing  was  not  in  the  least 
suggestive  of  the  habits  of  a  bear,  while  as  for  go- 
ing over  the  same  ground  night  after  night,  it 
was  still  more  difficult  to  assume  such  action  to 
a  bear,  whether  grizzly  or  black. 

Gavan  set  the  traps  again,  and,  again,  the  next 
morning,  found  them  all  sprung.  Tooth-marks  on 


302    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

springs  and  chains  revealed  the  means  used.  The 
tracks,  again,  were  unquestionably  not  those  of  a 
wolf  or  coyote,  or  any  of  the  dog  family;  they 
were  equally  unquestionably  not  those  of  a  bob- 
cat or  mountain  lion  or  any  of  the  cat  family. 
It  seemed  incredible,  but  they  looked  as  though 
made  by  a  bear. 

In  this  puzzle,  Gavan  sought  the  help  of  Quick 
Feather.  He  explained  the  circumstances  in  full 
to  the  old  Indian,  but  when  he  suggested  that  the 
theft  was  done  by  a  bear,  Quick  Feather  shook 
his  head. 

"Not  bear,"  he  said,  positively. 

"What  can  it  be,  then?"  demanded  the  boy. 

"Go  see,"  answered  the  Indian. 

This  fitted  in  entirely  with  Gavan 's  desires,  so 
he  waited  impatiently  until  the  Indian  went  out  to 
the  corral  surrounding  the  pueblo,  caught  his 
horse,  saddled  it  and  rode  out.  The  distance 
was  not  far  to  the  traps,  taking  a  short  cut  from 
the  pueblo  to  the  mountains. 

Quick  Feather's  comment  on  the  situation  was 
brief  and  characteristic.  At  the  very  first  trap 
they  came  to,  he  bent  down  and  looked  at  the 
ground,  once,  twice,  and  then  straightened  up. 

"Not  bear,"  he  said,  "bad  medicine!" 


RAIDERS  OF  THE  NIGHT       303 

And  vaulted  on  his  pony. 

"But  if  it's  not  a  bear,  what  is  it?"  queried 
the  boy. 

"Bad  medicine,"  the  Indian  replied,  and  not  an- 
other word  could  Gavan  get  out  of  him.  Like 
nearly  all  Indians,  on  being  asked  'a  question  he 
did  not  intend  to  answer,  he  assumed  deafness  and 
rode  on  as  though  he  were  alone.  Evidently 
Quick  Feather  was  not  going  to  be  of  any  assist- 
ance in  solving  the  problem. 

So,  a  day  or  two  later,  Gavan  rode  out  to 
McLeod  and  propounded  the  question  to  him. 
He  showed  him  the  tracks,  of  which  he  had  made 
several  careful  drawings.  But  when  he  ex- 
plained the  circumstances  and  said  that  Antonio 
had  made  out  of  the  issue  a  definite  accusation 
against  him,  McLeod  showed  himself  as  unwilling 
to  take  part  in  the  inquiry  as  Quick  Feather  had 
done. 

'  *  I  'd  sure  like  to  help  you  out,  Gavan, ' '  he  said, 
"but  I  haven't  got  the  right  to.  I'm  on  Govern- 
ment pay,  an'  while  the  Biological  Survey  gives 
me  privileges  to  run  into  the  nearest  local  town 
every  once  in  a  while,  Taos  or  Glorieta  or  wher- 
ever, I  can't  stay  away  more  than  one  night.  My 
traps  have  got  to  be  looked  after,  all  of  'em,  every 


304    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

other  day.  I  can't  take  Government  time  to  try 
an '  figure  out  your  puzzle. 

"Besides,"  he  added,  "in  a  way,  it's  a  party 
fight,  an'  I  can't  get  the  Government  in  wrong  with 
the  Mexicans.  If  I  were  on  my  own,  there's 
nothing  I  'd  like  better  than  to  jump  in  an '  show  up 
the  Greasers  to  a  f are-you-well,  for  I  think  there 's 
something  crooked  about  it,  but  a  Biological  Sur- 
vey man  can't  take  sides.  I'll  tell  you  one  thing, 
though,  an'  that  is  that  those  tracks  o'  yours 
look  less  like  those  of  a  bear  than  any  I've  ever 
seen. 

"Are  you  dead  sure  you've  drawn  'em  right!" 
he  continued.  "Remember  your  sixteen-inch 
track — which  was  just  a  medium-sized  bear  goin' 
down  hill  f" 

Gavan  colored  with  confusion  at  the  remem- 
brance, but  he  stuck  to  his  point  just  the  same. 

"I'm  dead  sure,"  he  said  positively,  "I  drew 
several  to  make  sure  and  they  were  all  exactly  the 
same. ' ' 

"Well,"  the  hunter  returned,  "  you  seem  to  be 
dropped  on  for  queer  things.  First  shot  out  o' 
the  box,  you  find  a  wolf  track  around  the  body  of 
Blue  Joe  Keary  which  is  an'  isn't  the  track  of  a 
wolf,  an'  then  you  find  the  track  of  a  bear,  which  is 


RAIDERS  OF  THE  NIGHT       305 

an'  isn't  a  bear's  track,  springin'  traps  all  along 
the  line.  If  you  ask  me,  I  should  say  that  you 
were  playin '  around  with  spooks ! ' ' 

Gavan  laughed  in  answer,  but  the  suggestion 
made  him  uncomfortable  just  the  same.  He  had 
almost  forgotten  the  mystery  that  surrounded 
his  night  of  watching  in  Ghost  Canyon,  and  he 
wondered  if  perhaps  this  was  going  to  turn  out 
a  part  of  the  same  queer  happening.  In  any 
event,  it  was  clear  that  he  was  not  going  to  receive 
any  help  from  McLeod,  any  more  than  he  had 
from  Quick  Feather. 

As  he  rode  back  to  his  cabin,  Gavan  puzzled 
continuously  over  the  problem.  He  knew  that  it 
was  of  no  use  taking  his  troubles  to  the  ranch  boss, 
for  Thin-lip  Jack  would  probably  want  to  settle 
the  matter  by  a  threat  to  give  Antonio  a  sound 
thrashing.  This,  as  Gavan  knew,  would  be  far 
from  settling  the  controversy,  contrariwise,  it 
would  only  be  giving  it  a  still  uglier  turn.  Like- 
wise, if  the  boy  asked  the  sheriff  about  it,  the  latter 
could  do  nothing.  He  was  an  able  man  and  a 
marvelous  shot,  but  he  knew  nothing  about  traps 
and  trapping  and  his  advice  would  serve  little 
purpose.  Also,  the  sheriff  was  wary  about  actions 
which  exceeded  his  official  duties. 


306    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

If  his  men  friends  couldn't  help  him,  how 
about  the  dogs?  They,  at  least,  Gavan  thought, 
had  no  prior  reason  to  be  puzzled,  they  would  not 
be  troubled  by  the  thought  that  it  was  ' '  bad  medi- 
cine ' '  nor  would  they  be  concerned  as  to  the  Mexi- 
can side  of  the  controversy.  It  was  immaterial 
to  an  Airedale  whether  a  track  were  in  accordance 
with  custom  or  not. 

That  night  Gavan  set  the  traps  again. 

Early  next  morning,  before  the  dew  was  off  the 
ground  and  while  the  scent  of  a  trail  would  lie 
heavily,  Gavan  reached  the  line  of  traps  with  Duff 
and  the  two  Airedales.  As  the  boy  knew,  Duff, 
with  his  partial  ancestry  of  hound,  had  a  marvel- 
ous nose  for  trailing,  but,  as  he  also  knew,  the  dog 
would  not  fight.  The  Airedales,  though  still 
young  dogs,  were  beginning  to  be  good  at  the 
trail,  and  they  would  fight  anything.  The  only 
trouble  was  that  Duff,  recognizing  the  racial  su- 
periority of  the  Airedales,  had  a  knack  of  break- 
ing off  from  his  own  trail  to  follow  theirs ;  whether 
the  right  trail  or  not. 

More  than  once  Gavan  had  trouble  because  the 
Airedales  broke  off  on  a  porcupine  track,  and, 
since  they  could  not  be  hauled  off  any  animal  until 
it  was  dead,  many  an  evening  he  had  spent  pulling 


RAIDERS  OF  THE  NIGHT       307 

out  spines  from  an  Airedale's  mouth  and  jaws, 
the  dog  being  tied  and  gagged  for  the  process. 
Duff,  partly  because  of  his  yellow  streak,  and 
partly  from  an  inborn  good  sense,  knew  enough  to 
leave  porcupines  alone. 

This  particular  morning,  Gavan  set  the  dogs  on 
the  trail  of  the  queer  bear-like  track,  visible  here 
and  there  on  the  softer  parts  of  the  ground.  Duff 
picked  up  the  trail  at  once.  He  ran  along  it,  nose 
to  ground,  for  a  little  distance,  then  stopped, 
crawled  away,  put  his  tail  between  his  legs  and 
howled. 

This  was  more  than  puzzling.  Gavan  sat  down 
on  a  rock  to  think.  Duff  was  a  coward,  that  was 
sure,  but  he  had  never  shown  any  reluctance  on  a 
trail.  Not  until  he  had  sighted  the  animal  had  the 
dog's  yellow  streak  ever  showed  itself  before. 
As  the  boy  well  knew,  Duff's  manner  was  always 
of  that  of  a  ferocious  beast,  ready  to  eat  up  any- 
thing in  sight — until  that  thing  came  in  sight. 

Why  did  the  hound  refuse  even  to  follow  the 
trail?  Gavan  remembered  the  night  in  Ghost 
Canyon  and  shivered. 

He  slipped  the  Airedales.  They  struck  the  hot 
trail  and  started  out,  one  running  silent,  the  other 
giving  tongue. 


3o8    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

Gavan's  hopes  rose.  Perhaps,  after  all,  the 
trail  was  sufficiently  fresh  for  the  Airedales  to 
follow  it.  If  only  some  other  trail  did  not  cross ! 
The  dogs  kept  their  straight  course  to  the  second 
trap,  where  the  tracks  were  also  faintly  visible, 
and  after  smelling  around  for  a  while,  dashed  on. 
Duff  followed,  but  shamefacedly,  and  behind. 

Then,  with  a  yelp,  one  of  the  Airedales  shot  off 
into  the  scrub,  the  other  Airedale  and  Duff  follow- 
ing. 

Gavan  ground  his  teeth,  for  he  felt  sure  that  this 
was  not  the  trail.  But  the  Airedales  forged 
ahead,  and  after  a  while,  far  in  the  distance,  he 
could  hear  them  baying,  the  low  raucous  howl  of 
Duff  joining  in. 

''They've  got  something!"  cried  the  boy,  and 
dashed  on  at  top  speed. 

The  three  dogs  were  jumping  around  a  good- 
sized  yellow  pine,  leaping  up  as  though  to  reach 
it. 

This  could  mean  only  one  thing,  that  an  animal 
was  treed.  Could  this  be  the  long-sought  bear 
cub?  More  probably  it  was  a  mountain-lion  or  a 
bob-cat.  The  rough,  deeply  indented,  strong- 
smelling  bark  of  a  yellow  pine  gave  no  clew.  Had 
it  been  some  soft-barked  tree,  like  quaking  aspen 


RAIDERS  OF  THE  NIGHT       309 

or  cork-bark  spruce,  Gavan  could  have  told  by  the 
scratches  in  the  bark. 

McLeod  had  taught  the  boy  the  value  of  not 
wasting  shots,  and  the  death  of  Blue  Joe  Keary 
had  made  the  lad  very  wary  of  running  chances 
with  a  mountain  lion,  should  such  be  the  quarry. 
He  was  not  going  to  shoot  until  he  was  sure  of  his 
aim.  He  circled  the  tree  warily,  careful  lest  the 
beast  should  change  his  mind  and  come  down,  for 
he  knew  that  the  cougar  is  the  most  capricious  of 
all  animals,  and  there  was  no  saying  what  creature 
he  might  be  about  to  face.  Presently  he  distin- 
guished a  blur  in  the  tree.  There  was  the  animal, 
surely. 

But  what  animal  T 

Keeping  an  unwinking  gaze  on  this  blur  in  the 
tree,  and  moving  as  little  as  possible,  Gavan  pres- 
ently was  able  to  make  out  clearly  the  long,  lithe 
body  of  a  cougar.  He  backed  away,  until  he  found 
a  rock  about  four  feet  high,  from  which  he  could 
see  the  tree. 

Taking  careful  aim,  he  fired,  and,  the  instant 
that  he  pulled  the  trigger,  scrambled  up  the  rock, 
so  that,  if  the  cougar  should  only  be  wounded  and 
should  fall  and  charge,  he  would  be  beyond  the 
beast's  first  spring. 


3io    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

The  aim  was  good,  the  shot  went  true.  A  yowl 
answered  the  bullet,  and  a  heavy  body  came  crash- 
ing down  through  the  branches.  The  boy  saw 
the  yellow  body  strike  the  ground  and  then  spring 
to  its  feet,  as  though  unhurt,  but,  with  the  same 
second,  the  two  Airedales  were  on  him.  The  dogs 
were  no  match  for  the  cougar,  and  Gavan  knew 
that  he  ought  not  to  risk  the  fight  to  con- 
tinue. 

At  the  risk  of  hitting  the  dogs,  he  fired  again, 
reaching  a  vital  point  this  time,  for  after  a  few 
convulsive  struggles,  in  which  one  of  the  dogs 
received  a  long  tearing  wound,  the  cougar  toppled 
over  and  lay  still.  The  dogs  tore  at  the  fur  for  a 
few  minutes  and  then  stood  back,  snarling  and 
watching.  This  was  proof  positive.  The  cougar 
was  dead. 

Since  this  was  the  first  mountain  lion  that  the 
boy  had  shot,  he  was  proud  of  himself  to  a  certain 
extent,  but  he  was  discontented,  none  the  less,  for 
he  was  not  after  mountain  lion.  He  was  after 
that  dwarf  bear,  or  whatever  it  was  that  had 
sprung  the  traps.  It  was  idle  to  blame  such  a 
trick  on  a  mountain  lion,  for  curious  though  a 
cougar  may  be,  and  annoying  though  its  habits 
may  be  of  following  a  lone  hunter  on  the  trail, 


RAIDERS  OF  THE  NIGHT       311 

Gavan  knew  well  that  the  cougar  is  far  too  wary 
to  fool  with  traps. 

With  live  bait,  during  the  period  of  famine,  any 
of  the  cats  are  tolerably  easy  to  catch,  and,  once 
trapped,  they  submit  to  the  inevitable.  But  to  go 
and  spring  a  trap  and  then  spring  another,  and  so 
on,  he  knew,  could  not  be  the  work  of  either 
cougar,  lynx,  or  bob-cat.  Lynx,  of  course,  was  out 
of  the  question,  for  it  was  a  northern  animal 
purely,  having  its  main  range  in  Canada,  though 
along  the  upper  slopes  of  the  Rockies  it  has  been 
caught  as  far  south  as  Colorado.  Gavan  had 
never  heard  of  a  lynx  on  the  Sangre  de  Cristo 
Range. 

But  that  was  beside  the  point.  None  of  the  cat 
family  were  possessed  of  that  mental  character 
which  would  trail  a  trapper  to  spring  his  traps. 
A  lobo  or  outlaw  wolf  conceivably  might,  for 
Gavan  had  heard  Winon  of  the  Biological  Survey 
speak  of  the  incredible  wariness  and  almost  human 
skill  possessed  by  a  much-hunted  gray  wolf.  But 
the  mysterious  tracks  were  as  far  from  those  of  a 
wolf  as  could  be  imagined.  They  looked  like  bear, 
and  yet  they  didn't  look  like  bear. 

After  sewing  up  the  wound  in  the  dog's  side — it 
was  a  nasty  cut,  but  not  serious — Gavan  started 


3i2    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

homewards  again.  He  had  hardly  gone  a  hundred 
yards  before  Duff  gave  voice,  and  started  up  the 
mountainside.  The  Airedales, — including  the 
wounded  dog,  followed.  The  chase  was  brief.  A 
bay  lynx  or  bob-cat  ran  up  a  small  tree  and  turned, 
spitting  at  the  dogs.  The  shot  was  clear  and  easy 
and  the  bob-cat  fell  at  the  boy's  feet. 

A  cougar  and  a  bob-cat  already,  and  the  sun  not 
three  hours  high!  Gavan  ought  to  have  been 
satisfied,  but  he  was  not. 

He  wanted  to  find  out  what  it  was  that  had  made 
that  trail. 

Still,  the  boy  thought  he  might  as  well 
visit  Antonio  and  show  the  results  of  his  morning 
hunting.  It  was  evident  that  the  woods  were  full 
of  bob-cat  and  cougar,  as  the  Mexican  had  said, 
but  Gavan  had  no  fear  of  an  unwounded  cougar. 
Winon  had  told  him  once  that  there  was  only  one 
absolutely  authenticated  case  in  which  a  cougar 
had  attacked  human  beings  unprovoked. 

On  September  23,  1917,  a  little  after  mid-day, 
two  children,  Dorcas  Ashburnham,  aged  11  years, 
and  Tony  Farrar,  aged  8  years,  left  their  home 
with  bridles  in  their  hands  to  bring  in  their  ponies 
from  a  pasture  about  three  quarters  of  a  mile  from 
the  house.  Before  reaching  the  pasture,  they 


RAIDERS  OF  THE  NIGHT       313 

were  suddenly  alarmed  by  the  sight  of  a  cougar 
approaching  alongside  the  trail.  What  happened 
then,  Gavan  had  read  in  the  actual  stories  of  the 
children  themselves,  which  were  secured  as  official 
depositions  before  a  notary  public.1 

"I  am  eight  years  of  age,"  the  boy's  story  ran, 
"and  was  born  at  London,  England,  on  March  9, 
1908.  I  have  lived  at  Corvichan  Lake,  British 
Columbia,  with  my  mother,  since  1912.  On  Sep- 
tember 23, 1916,  at  about  1  o'clock,  I  left  the  house 
to  go  with  Dorcas  Ashburnham  to  a  pasture  about 
three  quarters  of  a  mile  down  the  trail  to  catch 
our  ponies.  When  about  half  a  mile  from  the 
house,  we  saw  a  panther  coming  round  a  corner  a 
few  feet  away. 

"The  panther  sprang  on  Dorcas,  knocking  her 
down.  It  stayed  on  her  back.  I  told  her  to  keep 
quiet  and  not  move,  and  I  jumped  on  the  panther 
from  a  small  bush  and  hit  him  as  hard  as  I  could 
with  my  bridle. 

"This  forced  him  off  Dorcas  but  he  turned  on 
me.  We  both  fought  him  and  he  tore  my  nose 
and  cheek  with  his  paw  and  forced  me  to  the 

i  Certified  copies  of  these  depositions,  absolutely  authenticat- 
ing this  story,  are  on  file  in  the  Parliament  Building,  Victoria, 
B.  C. 


3H    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

ground  on  my  face.  He  then  tore  my  back,  bit 
me  in  the  shoulder  and  tore  my  scalp. 

"  While  he  remained  on  me,  Dorcas  attacked  him 
with  her  riding  bridle  and  her  fists  and  put  her 
arm  in  his  mouth  to  prevent  him  biting  me,  and 
he  bit  her  through  the  arm. 

"The  panther  slunk  away  finally,  and  we  both 
ran  home  covered  with  blood. 

"I  am  certain  that  if  Dorcas  had  not  driven  him 
off  me  the  panther  would  have  killed  me." 

Dr.  Dykes,  the  nearest  doctor,  who  was  hast- 
ily summoned,  certified  that  he  had  found  the 
boy's  injuries  "to  consist  of  a  badly  torn  scalp, 
necessitating  46  stitches,  and  a  number  of  cuts, 
scratches  and  bites  on  his  back  and  limbs."  The 
girl's  injuries  "were  not  so  severe,  consisting 
chiefly  of  some  scratches  from  the  animal's  claws, 
and  a  bite  through  the  right  arm  above  the  elbow." 

Immediately  after  the  return  of  the  children, 
Chas.  March,  a  neighbor,  seized  his  gun,  whistled 
to  his  dogs  and  started  out.  The  trail  was  fresh 
and  the  animal  evidently  was  traveling  very 
slowly.  It  did  not  take  to  a  tree,  but  turned  on  the 
dogs,  injuring  one  of  them  badly.  The  hunter 
killed  the  panther,  or  cougar,  as  soon  as  he  came 
up.  It  measured  a  little  over  seven  feet  from  the 


Courtesy  of  "  forest  and  Stream." 

THE   CHILDREN   WHO   STOOD   OFF   A   COUGAR. 

One  of  the  very  few  authentic  cases  when  a  wild  animal  in  America 
made  an  unprovoked  attack. 


RAIDERS  OF  THE  NIGHT       315 

nose  to  the  tip  of  the  tail,  and  was  estimated  to 
weigh  about  75  pounds.  It  had  a  cataract  over  one 
eye,  was  evidently  old  and  the  stomach  was  empty. 

Another  neighbor,  Arthur  L.  Taylor,  testified 
that  he  saw  the  children  go  out  and  return  "  cov- 
ered with  blood,"  heard  their  story  and  added: 
"I  consider  that  the  action  of  each  child  saved  the 
life  of  the  other  in  turn  and  that  one  is  entitled 
to  as  much  credit  as  the  other,  particularly  as 
either  could  have  escaped  by  sacrificing  the  other. 
I  saw  the  dead  panther  brought  in  afterwards  by 
Mr.  March." 

Chief  Justice  Hunter  of  British  Columbia,  a 
friend  of  the  family,  visited  them  next  day.  His 
deposition  concludes:  ''I  consider  that  the 
bravery,  coolness  and  resource  of  each  child  saved 
the  life  of  the  other.  I  should  be  glad  to  see  their 
actions  receive  proper  recognition." 

Finally,  Sir  Clive  Phillips  Wooley,  knowing  the 
family  and  living  within  twenty  miles  of  the  place, 
made  an  investigation,  and  declared:  "As  editor 
of  the  Badminton  volumes  on  big  Game,  I  investi- 
gated every  available  panther  story  and  believe 
this  to  be  the  first  authenticated  instance  in  British 
Columbia  of  a  panther  attacking  a  human  being, 
either  unattacked  or  in  its  own  defense.  In  spite 


316     WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

of  this  and  my  own  experience  of  over  thirty 
years,  I  am  compelled,  after  a  full  personal  in- 
vestigation, to  believe  the  children's  story  to  be 
absolutely  true  and  uncolored,  and  can  only  sug- 
gest that  the  attack  was  due  to  the  fact  that  this 
particular  panther,  being  partially  blind,  was 
unable  to  obtain  his  natural  prey." 

Another  case  is  known  in  which  a  cougar 
jumped  across  a  brook  and  attacked  two  boys, 
but  one  of  the  boys  afterwards  admitted  that  he 
had  "  thrown  some  stones  at  the  big  cat  to  make 
it  go  away." 

While  the  cougar  thus  is  timid  and  unwilling  to 
fight,  the  bob-cat,  though  smaller,  is  a  more  vicious 
animal.  There  are  a  few  cases  of  a  bob-cat 
turning  at  bay,  though  none  of  an  unprovoked 
attack. 

"I  ain't  nowise  partial  to  bob-cats,"  McLeod 
had  said  once  to  the  boy.  "He's  just  a  bundle  o' 
wires  actuated  by  the  spirit  of  a  demon,  but  a  lynx, 
a  genuine  Canada  lynx,  has  him  beaten  as  easy  as 
three  aces  takes  the  pot  from  a  pair  o'  Jacks.  A 
wounded  lynx  is  a  power  sausage-mill,  a  gang 
saw  an'  an  electric  dynamo  tied  up  together  in 
a  loose  gray  hide  which  is  hung  on  his  bones  so 
he  can  turn  himself  around  in  it  without  anv 


RAIDERS  OF  THE  NIGHT       317 

trouble.  A  dog  gets  a  lynx  by  the  throat  an'  glee- 
fully starts  to  choke  him  to  death,  when  the  animal 
whirls  round  in  his  skin  an'  hands  him  a  kick  that 
slits  him  wide  open.  No,  sir,  a  wounded  lucifee 
ain't  no  beast  to  go  up  and  pat  on  the  head." 

"Is  a  lynx  a  lucifee!"  queried  the  boy.  "I 
though  hunters  called  the  lynx  a  catamount." 

The  hunter  shook  his  head. 

"Not  the  Canada  lynx,"  he  says.  "The  cata- 
mount is  heavier  an'  shorter,  with  thinner  legs  and 
smaller  feet.  The  head  is  more  arched  an'  he's 
got  more  sense  than  a  lucifee.  The  teeth  an' 
claws  are  a  trifle  smaller  though.  Lynx  gigas,  the 
scientists  call  him.  They're  pretty  hard  to  tell 
apart  until  you've  shot  'em.  Then  you  can  spot 
'em  easy.  The  catamount's  tail  is  straight  and 
stiff,  while  the  lucifee 's  tilts  upwards.  Besides, 
the  fur  of  the  catamount  is  browner  than  the 
grizzled  pelage  of  the  Canada  lynx." 

Gavan  had  often  heard  the  expression  to  desig- 
nate courage  and  pugnacity,  that  "a  man  could 
whip  his  weight  in  wildcats,"  but  he  had  enough 
experience  of  the  woods  to  know  that  it  is  as 
difficult  to  make  a  wild  cat  fight  a  man  as  it  would 
be  to  make  a  rabbit  do  it,  unless  actually  cornered 
and  without  any  wa\  of  escape.  On  some  rare 


3i8     WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

occasions,  lynxes  in  winter,  when  game  is  scarce, 
have  leaped  from  trees  on  passing  travelers.1 

As  he  rode  townwards  with  the  skins  of  the 
cougar  and  the  bob-cat  on  his  saddle,  however, 
Gavan  came  to  a  decision.  It  was  clear  that  he 
could  not  trail  the  unknown  beast  alone,  it  was 
equally  clear  that  neither  Quick  Feather  nor  Mc- 
Leod  would  help  him,  and  experience  had  shown 
that  Duff  was  afraid  and  that  other  dogs  would 
leave  that  mysterious  trail  for  any  other  that 
crossed  it. 

The  issue  was  clear.  He  must  do  as  he  had 
done  with  the  Wolf -Woman  in  Ghost  Canyon,  and 
as  he  had  done  with  the  Mexicans  in  the  irrigation 
ditch.  He  must  do  the  watching.  Night  after 
night,  not  regularly,  but  sufficiently  often,  the 
traps  along  the  line  were  sprung  and  the  bait 
taken.  Gavan  was  by  no  means  sure  that  this 
could  not  be  the  work  of  a  Mexican  cabal,  but  how 
could  the  tracks  be  so  different  from  human  feet? 
Gavan  had  put  to  himself  the  probability  that  this 
was  some  one  wearing  shoes  to  which  the  foot  of 
an  animal  had  been  nailed,  but  he  had  been  forced 

i  The  only  case  that  the  author  has  personally  known  was  when 
a  hunter,  going  to  a  spring,  drove  a  famished  lynx  from  his 
freshly  killed  prey.  The  lynx  ran  -  i  a  tree  and  sprang  at  the 
hunter  from  the  back. 


RAIDERS  OF  THE  NIGHT       319 

to  abandon  this  idea,  for  the  imprint  of  the  tracks 
was  not  nearly  as  deep  as  his  own,  and  he  was  but 
a  boy. 

Accordingly,  two  nights  later,  having  carefully 
set  and  rebaited  his  traps,  Gavan  took  up  a  posi- 
tion in  a  thick  brush  near  that  trap  which  was 
most  open  to  view,  selecting  for  the  purpose  a 
moonlight  night,  with  a  gentle  wind.  Needless  to 
say,  his  post  was  to  leeward,  not  to  windward  of 
the  trap  line. 

Darkness  fell  and  the  raiders  of  the  night  be- 
gan to  move.  In  the  distance  Gavan  heard  a  wild- 
woman-screech,  which  he  had  been  taught  to  rec- 
ognize as  the  screech  of  the  cougar.1  The  trail- 
ing echo  of  a  howl  told  of  a  wolf  hunting  alone, 
and  Gavan  wondered,  for  he  had  seen  no  timber- 
wolf  track  in  the  mountains.  There  was  a  slight 

i  In  spite  of  some  considerable  study,  the  author  is  not  able  to 
solve  this  question  as  to  whether  the  cougar  possesses  or  uses 
a  screech.  U.  S.  Government  hunters  and  trappers,  generally, 
declare  that  it  does,  and  are  willing  to  be  quoted  as  saying 
so;  stories  of  frontiersmen  and  pioneers  speak  always  of  the 
panther's  screech.  The  author  has  collected  from  over  thirty 
different  actual  workers  in  the  field  absolute  assurance  that  they 
have  heard  the  screech  of  the  cougar  and  have  shot  the  animal 
shortly  afterwards.  Yet  the  majority  of  well-known  naturalists 
declare  that  the  cougar  does  not  screech  am"  chat  all  these  trap- 
pers have  mistaken  the  cry  of  a  screech-owl  for  the  cry  of  the 
panther.  The  controversy  is  still  unsettled,  and  the  reader  can 
take  his  choice. 


320    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

sound  in  the  bushes  and  with  a  suddenness  that 
seemed  like  magic  an  owl  swooped  and  caught  the 
little  mouse  that  was  his  prey.  Gavan  knew  and 
felt  that  eyes  were  shining  around  him  on  every 
side,  but  he  did  not  move. 

What  was  that? 

Moving  there  in  the  shadow? 

There  came  into  the  moonlight  a  figure  so 
strange,  so  ugly,  so  impossible  that,  had  the  boy 
dared  to  move  sufficiently  to  rub  his  eyes,  he  would 
have  done  so  to  prove  that  he  was  awake. 

A  low,  squat,  disreputable  creature  with  a  rough 
mop  of  a  tail  emerged  from  the  bushes.  The  tail 
and  head  were  pointed  at  the  ground;  the  back 
arched  like  the  back  of  an  enraged  cat  when  she 
spits;  the  feet  were  set  down  flat  like  hands,  or 
like  a  bear's  feet,  there  was  a  glint  of  long  white 
claws,  which  rattled  faintly  on  the  stones ;  and  the 
coat,  of  a  rusty  brown-black,  looked  as  if  it  were 
being  shed,  though  that  disreputable  look  was  its 
permanent  state. 

This  untoward,  ill-kempt,  malevolent-appearing 
beast  shambled  on  with  a  gait  that  was  all  its  own, 
an  out-of-heek,  devil-may-care,  go-as-you-please 
shuffle,  part  gallop,  part  trot,  part  slide,  and  the 
whole  appearance  was  of  the  shades,  shady. 


Courtesy  of  "Outing"  Magazine. 

COUGAR  SOLIDLY  HELD  IN  TRAP. 

The  photograph  gives  the  impression  of  an  animal  screeching,  yet  the 

cougar  (contrary  to  general  opinion)  is  rarely,  if  ever,  heard  to 

utter  a  cry,  other  than  a  low  snarling  or  spitting  sound. 


Courtesy  of  U.  .S'.  Forest  Service. 

ROUND-UP  ON  A  NATIONAL  FOREST  IN  ARIZONA. 
During  calving  time,  the  depredations  of  cougars  on  the  cattle  ranches 

are  enormous.  The  probable  loss  is  not  less  than 
half  a  million  dollars  annually. 


RAIDERS  OF  THE  NIGHT       321 

Thus  seen,  the  creature  suggested  a  powerful 
vagabond,  certainly  not  the  creature  to  meet  on  a 
dark  night,  but  not  necessarily  alarming. 

He  scrambled  toward  the  trap  and  turned  his 
face. 

It  was  not  a  face  that  belonged  on  this  earth  at 
aU. 

It  was  the  face  of  a  nightmare,  of  an  evil  night- 
mare. It  was  the  face  of  a  strayed  fiend  who 
ought  never  to  have  been  allowed  above  ground  at 
all,  even  by  night. 

Black  it  was,  and  with  a  dog-like  snout,  lips 
raised  in  a  malicious  leer,  just  enough  to  hint  at 
the  steely  fangs  beneath,  a  low  brutal  brow,  and 
eyes  as  of  tiny  coals  smouldering,  in  which  lurked 
all  the  hate  of  the  wild  folk  against  Man  concen- 
trated into  one  brain.  There,  too,  brewed  some- 
thing else,  not  hate,  but  a  knowledge  and  cunning 
which  it  is  not  right  for  any  beast  to  possess. 

He  came  near  the  trap,  smelt,  looked,  and,  in  the 
moonlight,  Gavan  could  have  sworn  that  the  beast 
actually  grinned.  Then,  with  his  white  claws  he 
scratched  at  the  ground — not  where  the  trap  was, 
but  where  the  chain  lay — uncovered  the  chain  in 
a  couple  of  powerful  strokes,  then  grabbed  the 
trap  by  the  under  side  of  the  springs,  almost  as 


322     WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

though  he  were  a  mechanic  who  understood  the 
making  of  a  trap,  and  shook  it  until  the  pan 
jumped  from  the  pin  and  the  jaws  closed  with  a 
snap. 

Then  the  beast  put  up  his  face  to  the  moon,  and 
laughed.  He  laughed,  he  who  was  but  a  beast. 

Gavan,  no  coward,  shivered.  The  almost- 
human  wisdom  of  the  fearsome  beast  was  un- 
canny. Cold  chills  ran  along  his  spine.  « 

Then  the  creature  turned  to  the  ground  squirrel, 
staked  just  beyond  the  trap  for  bait,  which,  evi- 
dently frozen  by  fear,  had  not  made  a  sound.  A 
crunch  or  two  finished  the  meal. 

Gavan's  fingers  trembled  on  the  trigger  of  his 
gun,  but  he  refrained.  He  was,  by  temperament, 
a  trapper  rather  than  a  hunter,  and  it  goaded  him 
to  see  this  disreputable  fiend  beat  him  at  every 
point.  He  swore  he  would  catch  that  creature  in 
a  trap  and  bring  it  back  to  town  for  Antonio  and 
all  the  world  to  see.  And,  while  he  was  thus  de- 
ciding, the  creature  snuffed  along  the  trail  and 
shambled  off  to  the  next  trap  to  repeat  the  per- 
formance. 

Stiff  from  cold  and  strain,  Gavan  went  home, 
and  next  day  sought  his  friend  the  Forest  Super- 
visor for  advice.  The  Forester  listened  awhile 


RAIDERS  OF  THE  NIGHT       323 

then  pulled  down  a  treasured  number  of  a  maga- 
zine from  a  shelf.  He  ran  his  fingers  over  a  num- 
ber of  colored  plates  illustrating  an  article  by 
E.  W.  Nelson,  Chief  of  the  U.  S.  Biological  Sur- 
vey, and  placing  his  finger  on  one  of  the  pictures, 
he  said, 

"Did  your  monster  look  anything  like  that  I" 

"Yes!"  cried  the  boy  excitedly,  "that's  him!" 

"Well,"  said  the  Forester,  "if  you  take  my 

advice,  next  time  you  see  him  you'll  use  your  gun, 

for  you'll  have  a  deuce  of  a  time  to  trap  him." 

"But  what  is  he  called!"  asked  the  boy,  for  the 

Forester  had  purposely  kept  his  hand  over  the 

title  of  the  picture. 

The  other  leaned  back  in  his  chair. 
"Tens  of  thousands  of  years  ago,"  he  said, 
"when  the  mammoth  still  stalked  about  the 
streets  of  London,  when  mastodons  were  wallow- 
ing in  Chicago's  swales,  when  the  saber-tooth  tiger 
was  roaming  along  the  banks  of  the  Seine  where 
Paris  stands  now,  your  disreputable  friend  was 
equally  at  home  from  the  site  of  Pekin  to  that  of 
Stockholm,  from  that  of  Boston  to  Seattle.  He 
was  the  same  that  he  is  to-day.  He  feared  nothing 
and  nobody.  Even  the  great  cave-bear  gave  him 
a  wide  berth. 


324    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

"Among  all  the  changes  of  the  world,  he  has 
not  changed.  The  bones  of  his  ancestors,  found  in 
peat  and  stone,  sunk  in  caves  laden  with  the  river- 
drift,  show  him  contemporaneous  with  many  an 
extinct  monster,  but  he  is  unchanged  and  unchang- 
ing. Your  friend,  Gavan,  may  point  to  at  ]east 
200,000  years  of  continuous  ancestry. 

1 ' What  is  he  called?  He  is  called  by  many 
names.  The  Indians  call  him  'Friend  of  Cun- 
ning,' the  frontiersmen  called  him  *  Indian  Devil,' 
the  French  coureurs  de  bois  called  him  the 
'carcajou,'  the  English  settlers  of  Canada  knew 
him  as  the  'glutton,'  and  modern  science  knows 
him  as  the  'wolverine.'  He  is  the  most  powerful 
of  the  weasel  family,  and,  like  the  weasel,  is  abso- 
lutely without  fear.  Even  the  big  gray  wolf,  the 
scourge  of  the  wold,  prefers  not  to  rouse  the  sav- 
age and  ruthless  ferocity  of  the  wolverine.  Once, 
two  gray  wolves,  lean  with  hunger,  met  with  a 
wolverine.  He  snarled  and  they  slunk  away.  Yet 
those  two  wolves  would  have  made  short  work  of 
a  full-grown  buffalo. 

"There  are  a  good  many  stories  told  about  the 
wolverine,  many  of  them  true,  some  exaggerated. 
But  I  chance  to  know  one  that  happened  to  my 
cousin,  in  the  wooded  country  southwest  of  Hud- 


Courtesy  of  "  Outing"  Magazine. 

THE   BKST-HATED  ANIMAL   ON   EARTH. 

The  wolverine  of  the  north  is  well  described   by  his  popular  names, 

"glutton,"  "rogue,"  "mountain  devil,"  "skunk  hear,"  and 

"carcajou."    He  is  the  trapper's  chief  enemy 

and  possesses  a  malignant  intelligence 

which  often  outwits  human  craft. 


RAIDERS  OF  THE  N13HT       325 

son's  Bay,  which  will  give  you  some  idea  of  what 
cunring  you  will  have  to  circumvent,  if  you  want 
to  trap  a  wolverine. 

"My  cousin  was  trapping  for  mink  and  marten, 
and  had  one  hundred  and  fifty  traps  out  on  his 
line,  when  the  road  was  discovered  by  a  very  old 
wolverine.  John  was  in  the  habit  of  visiting  his 
traps  every  ten  days  or  so,  but  the  wolverine  came 
oftener.  For  three  weeks  my  cousin  tried  in  vain 
to  catch  the  beast  and  John  was  no  green  hand. 
The  animal  carefully  avoided  the  traps  set  for  his 
own  benefit  and  seemed  to  be  taking  more  delight 
than  ever  in  demolishing  the  marten  traps  and 
eating  the  marten,  scattering  the  poles  in  every 
direction  and  hiding  in  caches  such  bait  or  martens 
as  he  did  not  devour  on  the  spot.  Finally  my 
cousin  decided  to  put  a  stop  to  the  annoyance,  cost 
what  it  might.  As  he  had  not  poison — and,  even 
if  he  had,  it  is  doubtful  if  it  would  have  fooled  the 
wolverine — he  set  a  gun  on  the  bank  of  a  little 
lake.  The  gun  was  concealed  in  some  low  bushes, 
but  the  bait  was  so  placed  that  the  wolverine 
must  see  it  on  his  way  up  the  bank.  John  block- 
aded the  path  to  the  gun  with  a  small  pine-tree, 
which  completely  hid  the  weapon. 

"On  his  first  visit  afterward,  he  found  that  the 


W  o  I  v  e  y  in  e. '  - 


326 


Wolverine   or    Indian  JJev/il 


327 


328     WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

beast  had  gone  up  to  the  bait  and  smelled  it,  but 
left  it  untouched.  It  had  next  pulled  away  the 
pine  tree  which  blocked  the  path  and  gone  around 
the  gun  and  cut  the  line  which  connected  the  bait 
with  the  trigger,  just  behind  the  muzzle. 

1  'Then  it  had  gone  back,  pulled  the  bait  away 
and  carried  it  out  on  the  lake  where  it  laid  down 
and  devoured  the  bait  at  leisure.  There  my  cou- 
sin found  the  string. 

"He  could  scarcely  believe  that  this  had  been 
done  designedly,  for  it  seemed  that  faculties  fully 
on  a  par  with  human  reason  would  be  needed  for 
such  an  exploit,  if  done  intentionally.  My  cousin, 
therefore,  rearranged  things,  tying  the  string 
where  it  had  been  bitten. 

"But  the  result  was  the  same*  for  three  succes- 
sive occasions,  as  the  footprints  plainly  showed, 
and,  what  was  most  singular  of  all,  each  time  the 
brute  was  careful  to  cut  the  line  a  little  back  of 
where  it  had  been  tied  before,  as  if  actually  reason- 
ing within  itself  that  even  the  knots  might  be  some 
new  trick  of  Man's  and  therefore  a  source  of  hid- 
den danger  it  might  prudently  avoid.1 

i  This  wolverine  story,  one  of  the  classic  cases,  was  an  actual 
occurrence  to  a  Mr.  Lockhart,  trapping  in  the  Peel's  River  coun- 
try. It  may  be  found  in  detail  in  Andersch  Bros'  "Hunters'  and 
Trappers'  Guide,"  a  valuable  work  for  practical  trapping. 


RAIDERS  OF  THE  NIGHT       329 

''How  do  you  reckon  that  the  wolverine  knew 
that  the  gun  meant  danger?  Still  more,  how 
could  he  reason  that  there  was  less  danger  near 
the  butt  of  the  gun  than  the  muzzle?  And,  fur- 
ther yet,  how  could  he  follow  the  plan  that  the  line 
was  the  connecting  point?  Is  not  that  more  like 
human  than  animal  reasoning? 

"It  was  the  same  wolverine,  that,  a  little  later, 
found  a  hare  in  a  steel  trap  which  had  been  set 
for  himself.  He  not  only  devoured  the  hare,  but 
actually  picked  up  the  trap,  gnawed  it  away  from 
the  stake,  and  carried  that  trap  a  mile  away,  up 
hill  and  down  dale,  with  many  twists  and  turns  to 
elude  a  possible  pursuer  and  then  hid  the  trap  in 
a  hole  he  dug  for  the  purpose.  That  beast  was 
not  only  not  content  with  springing  the  trap,  but 
actually  wanted  to  leave  the  trapper  without  traps, 
so  as  to  minimize  his  own  risk.  How's  that  for 
reasoning?" 

"Did  your  cousin  ever  catch  the  wolverine?" 
asked  Gavan. 

* '  He  did,  at  last, ' '  the  Forester  answered.  '  *  He 
had  begun  to  miss  a  number  of  things  from  his 
cabin,  including  his  only  frying-pan,  and  he  knew 
well  that  when  he  was  out  on  the  trap  line,  the 
wolverine  stole  from  the  cabin,  and  when  he  was 


330    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

in  the  cabin  the  beast  stole  from  the  trap  line. 
Now,  my  cousin  figured,  while  an  animal  might 
have  learnt  a  great  deal  about  traps  and  matters 
like  that,  in  the  wild,  it  would  not  know  much 
about  houses.  Accordingly  he  polished  a  small 
saucepan  until  it  was  bright,  knowing  the  wolver- 
ine's love  for  bright  things,  and  left  a  savory 
greasy  mess  in  the  pot,  burned  a  little  and  stuck 
to  the  bottom.  In  the  pot  he  placed  a  piece  of 
lead.  Then  he  balanced  this  pot  on  a  long  stick 
of  wood  which  propped  up  the  door,  and  fastened 
a  strong  spring  from  the  door  to  the  door  post. 

' '  This  done,  my  cousin  went  out  on  his  trap-line, 
chuckling  at  the  thought  of  the  trick  which  he 
would  play  on  the  wolverine.  When  he  came 
back,  a  couple  of  hours  later,  the  door  was  shut. 
Peering  through  the  rough  window,  made  from  the 
thinly  scraped  intestines  of  a  deer,  he  saw  some- 
thing dark  moving  on  the  floor.  Pulling  open 
the  sash,  he  poked  his  rifle  through  the  window  and 
fired.  It  took  a  second  shot  before  the  wolverine 
rolled  over  and  lay  still.  From  that  day  on,  not 
a  single  trap  was  disturbed." 

"Were  there  no  other  wolverines  around?" 
asked  the  boy. 

"Evidently  not.     They  are  not  social  animals, 


RAIDERS  OF  THE  NIGHT      331 

and  it  is  rare  to  find  two  close  together.  As  for 
this  wolverine  that  you  have  seen,  I  haven't  the 
least  idea  how  he  could  have  got  here.  Wolverine 
used  to  be  found  in  quantities  in  Utah  and  Col- 
orado, but  for  thirty  or  forty  years,  I  haven't 
heard  of  one  south  of  Montana.  What  has 
brought  him  so  far  out  of  his  range,  I  haven't  an 
idea,  but,  from  your  description,  I  should  say  it's 
an  old  beast,  long  isolated  from  his  fellows  and 
which  has  come  along  the  Colorado  mountains, 
crossing  the  plains  in  winter.  After  all,  the 
Sangre  de  Cristo  joins  up  pretty  well  with  the 
range  of  the  Rockies. 

"Maybe  he's  got  rheumatism  or  consumption 
and  has  come  south  for  his  health!"  he  concluded, 
smiling  at  the  lad. 

"It  isn't  going  to  be  healthy  for  him,"  an- 
swered the  boy  savagely,  "at  least,  not  if  I  can 
help  it.  I'm  going  to  catch  the  scoundrel  alive, 
if  it  takes  a  fortnight!" 

"You'll  be  lucky  to  succeed,  if  it  takes  all  sum- 
mer," responded  the  Forester.  "Why  don't  you 
get  Quick  Feather  to  help  you?" 

"I  tried,"  the  boy  answered,  and  related  the 
old  Indian's  fear  of  "bad  medicine." 

The  Forester  opened  his  eyes  in  surprise. 


332     WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

"Evidently  he  knew  what  the  tracks  meant," 
he  said;  "I  don't  wonder  at  an  Indian  thinking 
that  beast  'bad  medicine.'  That's  what  he  is. 
But  how  do  you  propose  to  go  about  catching 
him?" 

"  I  don't  know  yet,"  answered  the  boy,  for  he 
did  not  want  to  give  away  his  plans.  "But  I'll 
fool  him — you  see  if  I  don't!" 

But,  as  he  rode  home,  Gavan  puzzled  himself 
to  think  how  he  could  trap  that  wolverim.  He 
lay  awake  most  of  the  night,  and,  towards  morning 
an  idea  occurred  to  him.  He  went  to  sleep  on  it. 

"You  see,  Duff,"  he  said,  addressing  the  old 
dog,  as  was  his  habit  in  the  long  lonely  times  in  the 
cabin — for,  after  all,  Gavan  was  young  to  live 
alone,  month  after  month, — "you  see,  Duff,  this 
beast  isn't  atraid  of  man.  If  he  were,  he 
wouldn't  go  into  a  house.  He's  sprung  those 
traps  so  often  now,  and  got  a  good  meal  out  of  it, 
that  he's  likely  to  continue.  Suppose,"  he  con- 
tinued, "I  should  make  a  box  trap,  like  for  rab- 
bits, and  put  the  steel  trap  inside,  with  the  live 
bait.  If  the  wolverine  found  that  steel  trap  and 
sprung  it,  he'd  be  satisfied  that  he'd  found  out  the 
trick  and  would  go  to  the  squirrel  without  think- 
ing. Then  I  could  make  a  sliding  door  with  a 


RAIDERS  OF  THE  NIGHT      333 

figure-four  pin,  and  Mr.  Wolverine  would  be 
caught!" 

It  meant  work,  but  Gavan  was  not  afraid  of 
work.  He  set  out  the  following  morning  with  an 
ax  and  built  around  one  of  the  traps  a  strong 
stockade  of  poles  about  three  inches  thick  which 
he  drove  into  the  ground  six  inches  deep.  On 
these  he  laid  logs,  weighted  with  stones,  and  made 
a  sliding  catch  which,  when  the  live  squirrel  was 
seized,  would  pull  down  the  door. 

Next  day,  hardly  waiting  for  daylight,  Gavan 
rode  up  to  the  trap.  As  he  drew  near  he  could 
have  shouted  for  joy. 

The  door  was  sprung ! 

Hastily  jumping  off  his  horse,  Gavan  ran  up  to 
the  box  trap  and  peered  in. 

It  was  empty! 

Flabbergasted,  the  boy  walked  round,  only  to 
find  a  deep  hole  under  the  stockade.  The  wolver- 
ine had  quietly  sprung  the  trap,  eaten  the  squirrel 
and  then  dug  his  way  out.  Gavan  had  forgotten 
the  gnawing  properties  of  those  powerful  teeth. 
Had  the  boy  been  a  bit  younger,  he  would  have 
cried;  as  it  was,  he  only  set  his  teeth  and  deter- 
mined to  get  that  wolverine,  anyway. 

He  baited  that  trap,  as  before,  to  make  the  beast 


334    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

think  that  this  was  the  only  point  of  danger  and 
went  on  to  the  next  one,  this  time  taking  not  only 
an  ax,  but  a  shovel  as  well.  He  dug  under  that 
trap  a  pit  at  least  six  feet  deep,  and  lined  the  sides 
of  it  with  split  poles,  the  bottom  being  floored  as 
well  as  sides.  Then,  over  the  pit,  he  laid  a  frail 
platform  of  rotten  sticks,  sprinkled  dead  leaves 
over  them  and  then  set  the  trap,  finally  covering 
all  with  a  thin  layer  of  earth  as  usual.  This  took 
the  whole  day,  and  Gavan  rode  home  that  night 
well-pleased  with  himself.  Surely  the  wolverine 
would  be  caught  at  last ! 

Early  the  next  morning  he  rode  to  the  trap. 
The  hole  yawned  open!  Had  he  caught  the  wol- 
verine— or  had  something  else  trodden  there? 

With  his  heart  beating  like  a  trip-hammer  for 
excitement,  the  boy  peered  in. 

Nothing  was  to  be  seen  save  a  deep  hole  leading 
down  into  the  ground. 

Could  the  wolverine  have  got  away? 

It  would  have  been  easy  enough  to  have  found 
out  by  dropping  one  of  the  Airedales  into  the  pit, 
for  the  terrier  would  have  asked  nothing  better 
than  to  follow  the  wolverine  into  his  hole,  but 
Gavan  was  afraid  for  his  dogs.  He  knew  that  a 
gray  wolf  could  make  hay  of  half-a-dozen  dogs 


RAIDERS  OF  THE  NIGHT       335 

and  that  a  wolverine  was  not  afraid  of  a  gray 
wolf.  The  Airedale  might  easily  get  the  worst 
of  the  fight,  and,  if  he  did  not,  the  wolverine  might 
be  killed.  Gavan  wanted  him  alive. 

As  he  was  looking,  and  wondering,  the  head  of 
the  wolverine,  with  its  demon  face,  looking  almost 
as  evil  by  daylight  as  at  night,  poked  itself  out  of 
the  hole  and  the  beast  leaped  upwards. 

Gavan  started  back  in  alarm. 

But  the  sides  of  the  hole  were  too  steep  for 
climbing,  with  the  poles  flattened  so  that  they 
gave  no  hold,  and  the  distance  was  too  high  for 
a  heavy,  squat  creature  such  as  the  wolverine  to 
cover  by  a  leap. 

Full  of  triumph,  Gavan  ran  to  his  horse,  took 
the  lariat,  and  deftly  dropped  the  running  noose 
over  the  neck  of  the  wolverine. 

The  prey  was  caught. 

Then,  like  a  flash,  Gavan  found  himself  face  to 
face  with  a  serious  problem.  He  was  in  exactly 
the  same  position  as  that  of  the  cowboy  who  had 
lassoed  a  bear.  It  had  been  easy  enough  to  lasso 
him,  the  question  was  how  to  get  rid  of  him. 
Gavan  had  often  laughed  at  the  ranch  boss's  de- 
scription of  the  lassoed  bear  chasing  the  cowboy, 
every  once  in  a  while  being  choked  into  sub- 


336     WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

mission,  but  resuming  the  chase  as  soon  as  he 
got  his  breath. 

Likewise,  Gavan  had  the  wolverine,  but  if  he 
let  go  the  slack  of  the  noose  for  a  moment,  it  was 
evident  that  the  brute  would  bite  through  the 
rope.  Then  an  idea  occurred  to  him.  Taking  the 
chains  off  three  of  the  traps,  the  one  that  had  been 
set  and  two  that  he  was  carrying  with  him,  he 
wired  the  rings  together  and  made  a  ring  of  chain 
which  he  dropped  over  the  beast's  neck,  with  the 
other  end  of  the  rope.  This  done,  he  bent  down 
a  small  tree  near  by  and  fastened  the  rope  to 
it  so  that  there  would  be  a  strain  on  the  beast's 
neck,  not  enough  to  choke  it,  but  enough  to  keep  it 
from  continuing  to  dig  the  hole,  while,  at  the 
same  time,  the  chain  would  prevent  the  wolverine 
biting  itself  free.  Then  Gavan  spurred  for  An- 
tonio's home. 

"I've  caught  your  thief,"  he  cried,  "but  it  isn't 
a  bear,  it's  an  Indian  devil." 

The  Mexican  misunderstood. 

"I  kill  him,  "he  said. 

"No,"  explained  the  boy,  "it's  not  a  real  Indian, 
but  a  beast,  a  wolverine.  I  '11  show  you.  I  caught 
him  in  a  pit  and  I  want  to  take  him  out  alive,  but  I 
don't  know  how." 


Courtesy  of  "  Outing"  Magazine. 

THE   ANIMAL    SPIRIT   OF   EVIL. 

Clumsy,  cunning,  and  ferocious,  the  wolverine  is  the  largest  member  of 

the  bloodthirsty  weasel  family,  and  was  feared  by  the 

Indians  even  more  than  a  grizzly  she-bear  with  cubs. 


RAIDERS  OF  THE  NIGHT      337 

The  Mexican's  eyes  lightened. 

"I  can  do  that,"  he  said. 

Sending  his  oldest  boy  to  call  two  or  three 
of  his  neighbors,  he  took  a  large  cowhide  and 
a  bundle  of  baling  wire.  Beaching  the  pit,  and 
ignoring  the  boy's  protest  that  they  would  choke 
the  animal  to  death,  he  pulled  the  wolverine  out 
of  the  pit. 

Two  other  Mexicans  threw  themselves  on  the 
animal,  wrapping  the  cowhide  around  it  before 
it  had  a  chance  to  strike  out  with  the  claws.  The 
bit  of  a  horse's  bridle  was  forced  into  the  jaws 
and  tied  back  to  the  forelegs.  Then,  cautiously, 
the  hind-legs  were  released  and  tied,  the  forelegs 
likewise,  and  the  beast  thrown  up  on  the  saddle  in 
front  of  Gavan,  who  bore  him  in  triumph  to  the 
town,  displaying  to  the  people  of  Taos  the  first 
wolverine  captured  alive  in  New  Mexico. 

But,  what  was  even  more  important  to  Gavan,  he 
was  vindicated  in  the  eyes  of  all  the  Mexicans, 
and  even  those  who  had  been  the  readiest  to  show 
hostility  came  forward  and  proffered  friendship, 
a  friendship  which  Gavan  came  to  learn  to  value 
as  much  as  that  of  any  English-speaking  Ameri- 
can. 


CHAPTER  XI 

CATCHING   THE   WEEEWOLF 

The  capture  of  the  wolverine  not  only  increased 
Gavan's  reputation,  but  also  added  to  the  small 
bank  account  which  he  was  building  up.  As  be- 
fore, the  XO  Ranch  had  agreed  to  pasture  his 
stock  during  the  summer,  the  very  small  charge 
therefor  being  taken  out  of  the  price  of  the  hay 
which  Gavan  was  raising  on  his  irrigated  land. 
Likewise,  his  early  spring  catch  of  coyotes  had 
brought  him  in  quite  a  snug  little  sum  of  money 
for  the  fur,  and  now  he  sold  the  wolverine  to  a 
menagerie  for  seventy-five  dollars.  It  was  a  good 
haul. 

Not  only  did  the  victory  over  the  wolverine  give 
Gavan  local  prestige,  for  no  one  had  ever  seen 
such  a  beast  before,  but,  from  the  scientific  point 
of  view,  the  capture  of  the  beast  in  the  mountains 
of  New  Mexico,  so  far  south  of  its  usual  range, 
was  of  biological  importance.  Accordingly, 
Winon  wrote  to  the  boy  asking  him  for  all  the  de- 
338 


CATCHING  THE  WERE-WOLF     339 

tails  and  for  photographs  of  the  animal,  as  well  as 
exact  reports  concerning  its  method  of  capture. 
Gavan  worked  these  up  with  great  care,  thanks 
to  the  aid  of  the  Forest  Supervisor,  and  these  re- 
ports brought  Gavan  even  more  conspicuously  be- 
fore the  eyes  of  those  who  were  already  watching 
his  career  with  interest. 

As  Win  on  had  written  in  a  letter  to  Washing- 
ton: 

''This  young  fellow,  Gavan  Keary,  seems  to 
have  a  natural  ability  as  a  trapper.  I  enclose 
his  record  of  coyotes  caught  during  the  months 
of  April  and  May  and  also  the  account  of  his 
capture  of  the  wolverine,  with  affidavits,  for  which 
you  asked.  I  also  wish  to  report  that  he  has  spent 
some  time  with  one  of  our  bear-trappers,  J.  J. 
McLeod,  and  I  am  informed  by  the  latter  that  the 
aforementioned  Gavan  Keary  proved  himself  an 
able  assistant. 

"As  the  work  of  the  Biological  Survey,  here, 
need^  more  men,  and  these  men  should  preferably 
be  trained  in  our  ways,  I  contemplate,  if  this 
meets  with  the  wishes  of  the  Department,  to  give 
Keary  some  temporary  work  this  summer.  He, 
himself,  is  anxious  to  be  employed  by  the  Govern- 
ment." 

None  of  which  correspondence  Gavan  knew  any- 
thing about,  only,  he  worked  to  the  utmost  to  win 
the  good  opinions  of  his  desired  chief.  Now, 
when  coyotes  were  found  to  run  by  certain  trails, 


340    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

the  Mexicans,  who  had  been  his  enemies  before, 
voluntarily  came  and  told  him.  The  boy's  catch 
of  animals  increased.  Young  Mexican  lads,  ten 
years  of  age,  would  undertake  the  responsibility 
of  looking  after  one  or  two  traps  for  him,  at  out- 
lying parts  of  his  range,  and  count  it  a  triumph 
for  themselves  when  they  found  a  coyote  or  a 
bob-cat  caught. 

Then,  one  day,  the  ranch  boss  rode  over  to 
Gavan's  place,  his  face  dark  and  lowering. 

" Youngster, "  he  said  peremptorily,  "do  you 
know  I  Ve  lost  as  many  as  a  couple  dozen  cattle  in 
two  weeks  by  a  wolf  I" 

"No,"  answered  the  boy,  a  little  resentful  at 
Thin-lip  Jack's  tone,  though  knowing  that  it  was 
only  his  manner.  "I  heard,  though,  that  a  tour- 
ist party  had  come  by  the  other  day  and  cut  your 
fence.  Sure  the  cattle  haven't  escaped  and  are 
out  on  the  mountains  somewhere  ? ' ' 

"Think  I'm  a  fool?"  queried  the  ranch  boss, 
roughly.  "I  ain't  no  professional  trapper  like 
you — "  the  ranch  boss  was  really  fuming  within, 
or  he  would  not  have  sneered  at  the  boy,  who  was 
one  of  his  special  favorites — "but  I  know  a  wolf- 
track  when  I  see  one.  An'  this  is  large  enough 
an'  deep  enough  for  a  wolf  the  size  of  a  horse." 


CATCHING  THE  WEREWOLF    341 

Gavan  looked  up  quickly. 

"But  there  aren't  any  wolves  the  size  of  a 
horse,"  he  said  quietly. 

The  ranch  boss  broke  out  angrily. 

"Of  all  the  durn  fool—" 

Then  he  stopped  at  the  expression  on  the  lad's 
face. 

"What  are  you  throwin'  your  rope  at?"  he 
queried. 

"I'm  not  quite  a  'professional  trapper' — yet," 
the  boy  returned,  not  being  able  to  resist  the 
taunt,  "but,  just  the  same,  I  haven't  forgotten 
some  queer  things  that  have  happened  around 
here.  Do  you  remember  Blue  Joe  Keary?" 

"Of  course,  but  what  in  blazes  has  he  got  to  do 
with  it?  He's  dead." 

"Sure,"  agreed  Gavan,  "he's  dead,  but  do  you 
remember  how  he  died,  and  what  I  saw  the  night 
I  watched  over  his  body?" 

"Well,  boy?"  queried  Thin-lip  Jack,  impa- 
tiently. 

"Those  tracks  were  large  enough  and  deep 
enough  for  a  wolf  the  size  of  a  horse,"  said  Gavan 
meaningly. 

"You  mean  that  Wolf -Woman  business?" 

"It  never  did  get  cleared  up,  did  it?"  hazarded 


342     WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

the  boy.  '  *  And  they  had  trouble  over  in  the  Pecos 
Valley,  last  year,  the  same  way.  I  heard  about  it 
through  Mr.  Winon." 

The  ranch  boss  threw  a  leg  over  the  horn  of  his 
saddle  and  rolled  a  cigarette,  his  hard  face  set  into 
even  grimmer  lines. 

"Spooks  don't  rustle  cattle,"  he  said  at  last, 
1  'or,  if  they  do,  they've  got  to  show  me.  Suppose 
you  drop  this  coyote  business  for  a  while  an'  see 
if  you  can  get  a  line  on  my  cattle.  I'll  make  it 
worth  your  while." 

' '  I  '11  do  it,  without  that, ' '  said  the  lad.  « '  So  far 
as  my  line  is  concerned,  I  know  a  couple  of  Mexi- 
can boys  who'll  be  only  too  glad  to  watch  my  traps 
for  me  if  I  give  'em  half  of  what  they  catch.  Sure, 
Jack,  I'll  come  up  to  the  ranch  this  evening  and 
see  if  I  can  find  out  anything.  I'm  not  a  'pro- 
fessional trapper,'  though,"  he  ended  with  a 
laugh,  "so  you  mustn't  expect  too  much." 

"Forget  that  'professional'  business,"  said  the 
ranch  boss.  "I  was  sore.  Any  one  would  be 
sore  if  his  cattle  were  leakin  out  like  water  from 
a  pail  with  a  hole  in  it." 

Which  was  the  nearest  approach  to  an  apology 
that  Thin-lip  Jack  had  ever  made. 

Gavan  reached  the  ranch  house  that  night  and 


CATCHING  THE  WEREWOLF    343 

found  the  usual  welcome  awaiting  him.  He  was 
popular  with  the  cowboys,  and  he  liked  the  crowd 
himself.  They  ragged  him  unmercifully  when  he 
appeared,  for  each  of  them  had  tried  to  solve  the 
mystery  of  the  tracks.  But  Gavan  was  unper- 
turbed. He  had  lived  in  the  West  too  long  not  to 
know  how  to  stand  chaff. 

The  following  morning,  with  " Pinto"  as  his 
guide,  Gavan  rode  out  to  the  place  where  the  wolf- 
tracks  had  been  seen.  By  great  good  luck  it  had 
not  rained  recently  on  that  hillside,  although,  as 
customarily,  there  had  been  showers  all  round  and 
on  every  side. 

One  look  at  the  prints  was  enough  for  Gavan. 
He  turned  to  Pinto,  who  was  watching  him  with 
great  interest,  and  said  quietly: 

''Those  are  the  same  tracks  I  saw  in  Ghost 
Canyon,"  he  said.  "Now  let's  see  where  the 
fence  was  cut." 

"D'ye  suppose  the  wolf  cut  the  fence?"  queried 
the  cow-puncher. 

"Doesn't  sound  reasonable,  does  it?"  the  boy 
admitted.  "But  you  can't  ever  tell  about  a  wolf, 
leastways,  not  a  wolf  as  heavy  as  to  make  that 
kind  of  a  track." 

"You  dope  it  out  that  it  ain't  a  wolf  at  all, 


344    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

then,"  asked  the  cattleman,  catching  an  inner 
meaning  in  the  boy's  words. 

"I  don't  know,"  the  boy  replied,  "I'm  just  try- 
ing to  find  out.  But,  three  years  ago,  when  Blue 
Joe  died,  Quick  Feather  said  the  tracks  weren't 
those  of  a  wolf.  I've  watched  Quick  Feather  a 
lot  of  times  since  then,  and  I've  never  found  him 
wrong  on  a  track." 

"Well,"  said  Pinto,  after  they  had  ridden  a  few 
hundred  yards  along  the  fence,  "I  don't  see  what 
you're  drivin'  at.  Anyway,  here's  where  the 
fence  was  cut.  There  ain't  nothin'  to  see  here 
now,  the  rain's  washed  all  the  tracks  away.  But 
they  was  the  wheels  of  a  buzz-wagon  all  right, 
with  the  tires  showin'  like  the  regular  ones  on  a 
tin  Lizzie." 

Gavan  straightened  up. 

"The  wheel-marks  are  washed  away  and  the 
wolf-tracks  aren't,"  he  remarked.  "What  was 
the  last  day  you  had  rain  right  around  here?" 

The  cowboy  thought  a  moment. 

'  *  Thursday, ' '  he  said,  * '  there  was  a  right  smart 
shower." 

"And  you  missed  the  cattle,  when?" 

"Around  the  end  o'  the  week,  some  time." 

"Pinto,"  said  the  boy,  "between  you  and  me, 


CATCHING  THE  WEREWOLF    345 

I  think  the  buzz-wagon  and  the  wolf  are  working 
up  a  deal  together." 

"How?"  asked  the  cowboy. 

But  the  boy  shook  his  head,  declining  to  reveal 
his  plans. 

"I'll  have  to  talk  it  over  with  Jack,  first,"  he 
said,  * '  your  chaps  would  guy  me  off  the  place  if  I 
came  in  with  the  wrong  dope. ' ' 

"Maybe  they  would,"  the  other  agreed,  and 
they  turned  the  ponies'  heads  for  the  home  corral. 

Gavan  made  a  bee-line  for  the  ranch  boss,  and 
took  him  aside,  talking  to  him  earnestly.  The 
ranch  boss  looked  at  first  incredulous,  then 
rapidly  grew  more  interested.  Finally  he  swung 
on  his  neel. 

"I'll  take  a  chance,"  he  said,  and  called  to  one 
of  the  younger  men  to  ride  to  Taos  for  the  sheriff. 
Another  of  the  cowboys  was  sent  to  a  neighboring 
ranch  with  the  simple  statement  that  as  many 
men  as  could  be  spared  were  needed  to  round  up 
some  cattle-rustlers.  The  other  riders  on  the 
place  opened  their  eyes  at  this  message,  but  Thin- 
lip  Jack  gave  no  further  information. 

By  afternoon,  sixty  men  were  gathered  and  the 
sheriff,  having  had  a  long  conference  with  Gavan 
and  Thin-lip  Jack,  addressed  the  crowd. 


346    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

"I  suppose  you  all  know,"  he  said,  "that 
there's  been  quite  a  few  cattle  lost  lately,  not  only 
right  around  here,  but  in  the  Pecos  an'  higher  up 
the  range.  Some  of  it  has  been  due  to  wolves,  an' 
some  to  bear,  maybe,  but  the  number  lost  is  too 
many  for  the  wolf  an'  bear  tracks  that  have  been 
seen.  McLeod,  here,  is  as  good  a  bear-hunter  as 
there  is  in  the  state  of  New  Mexico,  an'  our  young 
friend,  Gavan  Keary,  isn't  any  slouch  when  it 
comes  to  wolves  an'  coyotes.  Quick  Feather,  a 
wonder  on  the  trail,  as  most  of  you  know,  has 
been  examinin'  the  tracks,  an'  Mr.  Winon,  the 
head  of  the  Biological  Survey  in  this  state,  when 
he  was  here  made  a  careful  study  of  the  situation, 
too.  They  all  agree  that  the  predatory  animals 
to  be  found  here  do  not  in  any  reasonable  pro- 
portion tally  with  the  losses. 

"Now,  boys,  we're  all  agreed  that  the  cattle 
which  have  disappeared  both  on  this  side  of  the 
mountains  an '  in  the  Pecos  Valley  have  been  taken 
by  two-legged  wolves.  We're  sure  there's  a  gang 
of  cattle-rustlers  workin'  in  the  mountains,  and 
Gavan  has  given  us  a  possible  clew  as  to  where 
they  are.  Nothin's  definite  as  yet,  but  there's 
no  use  in  scarin'  the  gang  away  in  case  they're 
the  men  we're  lookin'  for.  We  don't  want  any 


CATCHING  THE  WEREWOLF    347 

shootin'  if  we  can  help  it.  Let's  have  everything 
done  in  law  and  order. 

"  Pinto,  here,  who  knows  the  mountains  like  an 
old  buffalo  knows  his  way  to  a  salt-lick,  will  lead 
half  the  boys  to  a  saddle-back  away  back  of  Three- 
of-a-Kind  Spring,  near  the  divide.  Any  men  or 
any  cattle  comin'  up  that  way  are  to  be  turned 
back.  The  rest  of  you  will  go  down  to  where  the 
Ghost  Canyon  runs  into  Pot  Creek.  No  one  is  to 
get  by,  but  keep  the  guns  quiet  if  you  can.  Don 't 
hesitate  to  shoot,  though,  if  any  one  escapes.  An' 
so  that  everything  may  be  regular,  I'll  swear  the 
lot  of  you  in  as  deputy  sheriffs  for  the  day.  Hold 
up  your  right  hands." 

The  oath  was  duly  administered  and  taken. 
Then  the  sheriff  continued: 

"Thin-lip  Jack,  Clip  Corbett  (a  neighboring 
ranchman),  the  boy  an'  I  are  goin'  to  do  a  little 
climb  in'  on  foot,  an'  I  want  a  couple  of  the  boys 
to  come  with  us,  in  case  I  have  to  send  word  to 
either  of  the  two  bunches.  I  want  some  one  who 
knows  the  country  an'  isn't  scared  to  use  his 
spurs." 

The  ranch  boss  named  a  couple  of  his  men. 

"I  don't  know,"  ended  the  sheriff,  "any  more 
than  you  do,  just  what  we're  goin'  to  find,  but 


348     WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

I'm  bankin'  on  it  that  we  find  some  thin'.  The 
evidence  is  tolerable  plain.  Now,  boys,  off  with 
you!" 

The  two  cavalcades  rode  off  with  much  laugh- 
ing and  shouting,  and  when  they  had  gone,  the 
sheriff  turned  to  Gavan. 

' '  You  're  sure  you  know  your  way  to  the  place  ? ' ' 

"Sure,"  the  boy  answered,  confidently.  "I 
wanted  to  blaze  a  trail,  but  I  was  afraid  some  one 
might  see  and  get  wind  of  what  was  up.  But  I 
made  careful  note  and  can  take  you  there  straight, 
I'm  positive." 

"Let's  so,  then,"  said  the  sheriff,  and  he  un- 
wrapped a  parcel  which  he  had  carried  on  his 
saddle,  exposing  a  large  megaphone. 

Gavan  grinned  at  the  sight  of  it. 

"That's  a  good  idea,  Hunch,"  he  said. 

"I've  got  a  right  smart  likin'  for  my  skin,"  the 
sheriff  replied,  "an'  if  I  can  work  this  dodge  with- 
out showin '  myself,  so  much  the  better. ' ' 

The  small  party  of  six  swung  into  their  saddles 
and  started.  After  a  couple  of  hours '  ride,  Gavan 
turned  to  the  sheriff. 

"I  believe  we  had  better  leave  our  horses  here," 
he  said,  when  they  had  reached  an  open  mountain 


CATCHING  THE  WEREWOLF    349 

meadow  surrounded  on  three  sides  by  rocky  walls, 
"it's  a  stiff  climb  from  now  on." 

The  boy  was  right.  The  climb  was  more  than 
stiff,  it  was  precipitous,  and  Gavan,  as  well  as  the 
rest  of  the  men,  had  to  stop  and  blow  for  breath 
before  they  were  halfway  up. 

"You  ain't  tryin'  to  make  us  think  they  took 
cattle  up  here?"  queried  the  ranch  boss. 

"No,"  said  the  boy,  "I  haven't  the  faintest  idea 
how  the  cattle  got  in.  But  there's  cattle  in  the 
canyon,  I'm  sure,  just  the  same." 

They  set  their  faces  to  the  cliff  again,  and 
climbed  and  scrambled  for  an  hour.  Then  Gavan 
uttered  an  exclamation. 

"Just  on  the  dot!"  he  said.  "There's  two 
stones  I  put  one  on  top  of  the  other,  so  that  I 
should  come  the  right  way.  It's  not  so  far,  now. " 

Followed  a  slithering  scramble  down  into  a  ra- 
vine, at  which  Thin-lip  Jack  looked  puzzled. 

"I  used  to  run  cattle  over  this  part  o'  the  moun- 
tains when  it  was  all  open  range,"  he  said,  "but  I 
never  saw  this  valley  afore." 

"My  dogs  ran  a  bear-track  over  here  once," 
the  boy  replied,  "that's  how  I  found  it.  But  the 
bear  knew  more  than  I  did,  or  the  dogs  either,  for 


350    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

he  got  away  suddenly,  just  as  if  he'd  taken  an 
aeroplane. ' ' 

"Where  do  we  go  from  here?"  queried  one  of 
the  cowboys,  looking  around  on  all  sides. 

"Up  the  cliffs,"  said  Gavan,  pointing  to  an- 
other sheer  climb  ahead  of  them. 

"Wings  would  be  handy,"  was  the  only  com- 
ment, and  the  men  started  to  climb.  It  seemed 
almost  inaccessible  and  assuredly  no  one  on  horse- 
back could  have  made  the  ascent.  Only  on  foot 
could  the  place  be  reached. 

"I'm  not  as  young  as  I  used  to  be,"  was  the 
sheriff's  panting  comment,  when  he  reached  the 
top.  "How  much  more  of  this  is  there,  Gavan?" 

"Not  much  more,"  said  the  boy.  "We're 
nearly  there." 

He  led  the  way  along  the  ridge  for  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  or  so,  then  stopped  suddenly. 

"Look,"  he  said,  "aren't  those  cattle  down 
there?" 

The  men  crowded  together  and  followed  the 
pointing  finger. 

The  sheriff  was  the  first  to  catch  sight  of  some 
brown  specks  in  a  valley  far  below. 

"They  sure  are,"  he  said,  "but  how  do  you 
know  that  they're  not  some  of  the  XO  bunch?" 


CATCHING  THE  WEREWOLF    351 

The  ranch  boss  answered  that  question. 

"They  may  be  some  of  my  brand,"  he  said, 
"but  I'll  swear  I  never  had  a  round-up  here,  what- 
ever. Suppose  we  go  down  an'  have  a  look  at 
'em?" 

An  hour's  cautious  climbing  brought  the  party 
to  the  lower  valley  lands,  and  Thin-lip  Jack,  ad- 
vancing quietly  to  the  edge  of  the  brush,  scanned 
the  herd.  Nearly  a  hundred  head  were  feeding 
quietly  together. 

"There's  some  o'  my  brand,"  he  said,  grimly, 
when  he  came  back,  "an'  I  saw  three  or  four  o' 
yours,  Chip,  some  of  the  Circle  Arrow,  an'  I  don't 
know  what  all.  Now,  where 's  the  nest  o'  these 
varmints?  I'd  like  to  get  my  paws  on  'em  an* 
show  'em  what's  what!" 

The  sheriff  shook  his  head. 

"No,  Jack,"  he  said,  "that  isn't  the  idea  at  all, 
at  all.  What's  the  use  or  gettin'  shot  up  for 
nothin"?  Let  me  fire  my  shout-gun  first,"  and 
he  motioned  to  the  megaphone. 

"All  right,  Hunch,"  the  ranch  boss  answered; 
"you're  dealin'  this  hand.  But  I  don't  want  the 
gang  to  get  away." 

"They  won't!"  answered  the  sheriff,  con- 
fidently. "The  rest  o'  the  boys  '11  take  care  o' 


352     WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

that."  Then,  turning  to  Gavan,  he  added,  "do 
you  know  where  their  camp  is!" 

"I  don't,"  the  boy  answered,  "I  was  afraid  to 
hunt  around  alone,  too  much.  I  knew  if  they  were 
rustlers,  they'd  shoot  first  and  ask  questions 
afterwards.  But  it  ought  to  be  up  the  valley, 
oughtn't  it!  A  camp  is  generally  near  a  spring." 

"Sure!"  agreed  the  sheriff,  nodding  approval 
of  this  principle,  and  the  six  men,  as  quietly  as 
they  could,  ascended  the  valley,  climbing  a  side 
hill  at  the  same  time.  Then,  in  the  distance,  the 
ranch  boss  suddenly  halted. 

"I  saw  somethin'  shine,"  he  said,  and  stepped 
back  a  pace  or  two,  moving  his  head  sideways  and 
back  and  forward.  "There  it  is  again,"  he  ex- 
claimed. "See,  Hunch?" 

He  stepped  back,  and  the  sheriff  took  the  same 
spot,  at  last  getting  the  point. 

"Something  bright,  that's  sure,"  the  sheriff 
agreed.  "Suppose  it's  a  window?" 

"Must  be,"  the  ranch  boss  agreed,  "I  don't 
know  anything  else  as  would  shine  as  bright. 
But  if  it's  a  window,  where 's  the  house!" 

"I  don't  think  it  could  be  a  window,  Hunch," 
put  in  the  boy. 

"Why  not?" 


CATCHING  THE  WEREWOLF    353 

''Because  a  window  wouldn't  shine  unless  it  re- 
flected the  sun,  and  the  sun  isn't  behind  our  backs 
but  'way  over  to  the  west. ' ' 

''Well,  then,  what  do  you  think  it  is?  A 
diamond  mine?" 

"It  might  be  a  tin  can,"  the  boy  hazarded. 

The  ranch  boss  brought  his  hand  against  his 
thigh  with  a  resounding  slap. 

"The  lad's  hit  it!"  he  declared.  "I  bet  a  stack 
o'  blue  chips  that's  just  what  it  is — a  tin  can. 
Like  enough,  the  camp  won't  be  so  far  away. 
But  where  are  the  tents!" 

"They  might  be  camouflaged,"  the  sheriff  sug- 
gested, "covered  with  green  boughs  or  the  like. 
That  would  make  'em  durn  hard  to  see." 

"Let's  make  for  the  tin  can,  then,"  said  Thin- 
lip  Jack.  "We  ought  to  be  somewhere  near, 
then." 

The  party  descended  cautiously. 

Then,  through  the  silence  of  the  woods,  came 
the  most  familiar  of  all  camp  sounds,  an  ax-blow. 

The  sheriff  held  up  his  hand  for  silence. 
Every  one  knew  the  sound.  Some  one  was  cutting 
wood  for  the  camp.  Yet,  though  the  sheriff's 
party  was  so  close,  not  a  sign  of  the  camp  could 
be  seen.  Stealthily  the  six  men  approached. 


354    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

Woodsmen  all,  their  footsteps  were  scarcely 
audible.  Then  voices  were  to  be  heard,  speak- 
ing Spanish.  Even  so,  not  a  sign  of  a  camp  could 
seen. 

Whispering,  the  sheriff  disposed  the  men  so 
that  each  one  was  hidden  behind  a  large  tree  or 
rock.  Then,  taking  a  concealed  position,  he  lifted 
the  megaphone  and  called,  in  a  clear,  penetrating 
voice,  in  Spanish, 

"Hands  up!" 

There  was  a  dead  silence.  The  blows  of  the  ax 
ceased.  The  forest  fell  still. 

"Your  game  is  over,"  came  this  mysterious 
hollow  voice  from  the  megaphone.  "This  is 
Hunch  Capton,  the  sheriff,  speakin'.  Your  bunch 
o'  stolen  cattle  has  been  seen  an'  identified,  both 
ends  of  the  canyon  are  held  by  XO  and  Circle 
Arrow  men.  Do  you  give  yourselves  up?" 

The  ensuing  silence  was  suddenly  split  by  a 
fusillade.  The  bullets  rattled  against  the  walls 
of  the  opposite  side  of  the  canyon,  for  the  echo 
made  it  seem  as  though  the  voice  came  from  that 
side.  Immediately  thereafter,  there  was  a  rattle 
of  bars. 

"Getting  the  horses  out,"  said  Thin-lip  Jack. 
"Hunch,  let  me  rush  'em!" 


CATCHING  THE  WEREWOLF    355 

But  the  sheriff  held  him  back. 

"If  you  surrender  peaceably,"  he  continued,  in 
the  low  megaphone  drone,  "I'll  see  that  you  get 
a  fair  trial.  If  you  don't,  there's  fifty  men  at 
each  end  of  the  canyon  with  orders  to  shoot  at 
sight." 

Then  a  voice  answered. 

"If  you're  Hunch  Capton,"  it  said,  "show your- 
self!" 

The  sheriff  chuckled. 

"They  think  we're  on  the  other  side  o'  the 
canyon,"  he  whispered.  "Jack,  you  and  Chip 
back  me  up,  but  don't  fire  unless  I  drop." 

The  two  men  protested. 

"We'll  tackle  them  together,"  they  said. 

The  sheriff's  jaw  set  firm. 

"You'll  do  as  I  say,"  he  said,  curtly.  "This 
is  my  job!" 

As  quietly  as  an  Indian,  the  two  ranchmen  fol- 
lowing, the  sheriff  started  down  the  hill.  He  was 
nearer  the  camp  than  he  knew,  for  suddenly,  he 
came  upon  the  clearing.  Five  men,  each  with 
drawn  guns,  were  facing  the  opposite  side  of  the 
clearing,  watching  the  rugged  hillside. 

"We've  got  the  drop  on  you,"  said  a  quiet 
voice  in  their  rear,  and  the  rustlers  wheeled  to 


356    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

see  Hunch  Capton  and  two  men  behind  him. 
One  of  the  rustlers  shot  as  he  turned,  and  the 
bullet  whizzed  close  to  the  sheriff's  ear.  The 
reply  was  almost  instantaneous.  Before  the  echo 
of  the  rustler's  shot  had  reached  the  opposite  cliff, 
Hunch's  gun  spoke,  and  the  would-be  slayer  fell 
in  his  tracks. 

"If  any  of  the  rest  of  you  wants  to  take  that 
death-trail,"  remarked  the  sheriff,  menacingly, 
"all  he  has  to  do  is  to  make  a  move." 

He  advanced  slowly,  the  two  ranchmen  follow- 
ing. 

"There  are  four  of  you  and  six  guns  with  the 
drop  on  you,"  continued  the  sheriff,  "what's  the 
answer?" 

At  that  instant,  the  clatter  of  horse 's  hoofs  was 
heard.  The  rustlers'  eyes  lightened,  but  the  three 
men  facing  them  were  too  old  hands  to  turn  their 
heads  around  to  see  what  might  be  going  on. 

"Drop  those  guns  o'  yours,"  the  official  added, 
sternly.  "Drop  'em  right  on  the  ground,  an' 
pronto!" 

Sullenly,  first  one  and  then  another  dropped  his 
gun,  until  four  guns  were  on  the  ground,  five,  in 
fact,  for  one  of  the  men  had  held  two  six-shooters. 

"You    can    take    about   three    paces    forward, 


CATCHING  THE  WEREWOLF    357 

now, ' '  the  sheriff  ordered,  * '  that  '11  keep  you  from 
bein'  tempted  to  pick  'em  up  again.  An'  the 
first  man  that  draws  a  knife  won't  have  any  time 
to  say  his  prayers." 

"He  sure  won't,"  appended  Thin-lip  Jack, 
grimly. 

The  rustlers  obeyed  the  order.  They  had 
recognized  the  three  men  and  knew  them  to  be 
among  the  quickest  and  best  shots  in  the 
mountains.  The  sheriff  slipped  his  guns  back  into 
place  and  strode  forward  with  a  pair  of  handcuffs, 
which  he  clipped  on  the  apparent  leader  of  the 
band.  Then,  snatching  the  handkerchiefs  which 
were  around  the  men's  necks,  he  tied  the  hands 
of  the  other  three.  This  done,  he  searched  them 
for  weapons,  throwing  out  a  little  arsenal  of  guns 
and  knives. 

With  the  rustlers  thus  reduced  to  harmlessness, 
he  flung  a  question  at  them, 

"How  many  more  in  the  gang?" 

"No  sabe,"  answered  the  leader. 

"Too  bad,"  said  the  sheriff.  "If  you  could  let 
us  know  who  they  were,  I  could  get  word  to  the 
boys  not  to  kill  at  sight.  As  it  is  now,  they'll 
be  shot." 

A  flicker  passed  over  the  eyes  of  the  foremost 


358     WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

man,  evidently  a  half-breed  Mexican  and  white. 

'  *  One  of  them  is  my  woman, ' '  he  said. 

The  sheriff's  eyes  narrowed.  As  he  knew  well, 
the  shooting  of  a  woman  would  turn  public  senti- 
ment against  the  posse. 

"I  happen  to  know  that  you  can  head  them  off 
if  you  want  to, ' '  he  said,  confidently,  though  this 
was,  of  course,  only  a  guess.  But  he  read  the  an- 
swer in  the  man 's  eyes. 

"Chip,"  he  said,  "take  the  other  two  men  an' 
get  the  horses  o'  four  o'  these  rustlers  out  o' 
the  corral.  Put  this  chap  on  a  horse,  tied  good 
an'  solid,  an'  make  him  show  you  where  the  rest 
have  gone.  Don't  shoot.  We  don't  want  to  hurt 
that  woman,  but  we  Ve  got  to  have  all  the  gang. ' ' 

The  ranchman  nodded,  and  within  a  few 
minutes  the  four  horses  were  caught,  saddled,  the 
chief  of  the  gang  was  placed  on  horseback,  and  the 
party  of  four  disappeared.  Meanwhile,  the 
sheriff  tightened  the  bonds  of  the  other  three,  tied 
their  legs  and  sat  down  to  watch  them.  Gavan, 
who  had  come  forward  as  soon  as  the  shooting, 
was  over,  and  who  had  watched  all  this  without 
saying  a  word,  now  suddenly  uttered  a  loud  cry, 

"The  tracks!" 

"What  is  it,  Gavan,"  asked  the  sheriff,  with- 


CATCHING  THE  WEREWOLF    359 

out  taking  his  eyes  off  the  prisoners,  bound  as  they 
were. 

"The  tracks  of  the  Wolf  -woman, "  the  boy  ex- 
plained.  "I  was  sure  of  it!" 

"Sure  of  what?"  put  in  the  ranch  boss,  im- 
patiently. 

"Hunch,"  asked  the  boy,  "can  I  look  around  a 
little?" 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  said  the  sheriff  doubt- 
fully, "but  don't  go  far  an'  don't  get  into  any 
trouble.  There  might  be  some  more  of  these 
gentlemen  around,  you  know." 

"I'll  be  careful,"  rejoined  the  boy,  in  a  fever 
of  excitement,  and  he  darted  off  toward  the  thick 
brush.  Presently,  the  sheriff  and  the  ranch  boss 
heard  a  shout  of  triumph,  and,  a  moment  later, 
the  boy  appeared  dragging  a  wolf-skin  in  one 
hand,  and  some  clumsy  looking  articles  in  the 
other.  He  produced  these  first. 

"Look,  Hunch!"  he  said,  and  held  them  out. 

"What  are  they?"  queried  the  sheriff,  puzzled. 

' '  Don 't  you  see  ? "  said  the  boy.  ' i  They  're  made 
for  fastening  to  a  pony's  hoofs,  like  the  shoes 
that  Arctic  explorers  make  for  their  dogs.  Here 's 
a  strap  to  go  round  the  pastern  and  a  regular 
shoe  for  the  hoof."  He  turned  them  over,  and 


360    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

showed  them.  "And  on  the  other  side,"  he 
pointed  out,  "these  two  rubber  pads  would  look 
just  like  the  paws  of  a  wolf. ' ' 

"What  are  they  made  of1?"  queried  the  sheriff, 
curiously. 

'  *  Old  automobile  casings  and  tires  melted  down, 
I  should  say,"  guessed  the  boy.  "They're  tough 
enough. ' ' 

"What's  the  idea?" 

"To  throw  any  one  off  the  trail,"  hazarded 
Gavan.  "If  cattle  are  lost,  or  maybe  a  calf  killed, 
and  some  one  chances  to  see  wolf-tracks  around, 
it's  a  cinch  that  wolves  are  going  to  be  blamed, 
not  rustlers." 

"You  mean,"  said  Thin-lip  Jack,  "that  all  these 
seasons  I've  been  missin'  here  an'  there  half  a 
dozen  head  of  cattle  an'  blamin'  the  wolves,  it's 
been  these  pesky  cattle-thieves?"  He  pointed 
angrily  at  the  men  lying  on  the  ground  like  trussed 
poultry. 

"Looks  like  it,"  said  the  boy.  "Here  are  the 
wolf -tracks,  and  there,"  pointing  down  the  valley, 
"are  your  cattle. 

"But,"  he  continued,  "that  isn't  all!" 

And,  with  great  pride,  he  exhibited  a  wolfskin. 

"See,"  said  the  youngster,  "the  front  legs  of 


CATCHING  THE  WEREWOLF    361 

this  contraption  are  fixed  up  with  springs  and 
swivels  like  on  an  artificial  leg  they  give  soldiers 
who  have  been  wounded.  It's  an  awful  job  to  run 
around  on  hands  and  knees,  but  this  dodge  makes 
it  easy." 

And,  to  show  the  plan,  Gravan  threw  the  skin 
over  his  head,  put  his  arms  half-way  down  in 
the  forelegs  and  began  to  cavort  around. 

Despite  the  gravity  of  the  situation,  the  two 
men  could  not  help  laughing  at  the  boy. 

"Regular  wolf -boy!"  declared  the  sheriff,  but 
he  had  not  time  to  discuss  the  matter  further, 
when  the  sound  of  the  returning  horses  were  heard 
and  the  four  men  returned,  Chip  and  the  two 
cowboys  each  having  a  prisoner  on  the  saddle 
before  them. 

"I'll  be  shot!"  exclaimed  the  sheriff,  "if  they 
haven't  got  nothin'  but  a  woman  and  two  kids." 

Chip  rode  up  gravely  and  looked  down  at  the 
sheriff. 

"Hunch,"  he  said,  seriously,  "do  you  remem- 
ber those  two  kids  that  disappeared  half  a  dozen 
years  ago,  an'  were  supposed  to  have  been  eaten 
by  the  Wolf -woman?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  sheriff,  "not  that  I  ever  took 
much  stock  in  the  story.  What  of  it?" 


362    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

" These  are  the  two  kids." 

"So,"  said  the  sheriff,  and  his  eye  roved  from 
the  woman  to  Gavan,  who  had  stood  up,  making 
a  curious  figure  in  the  wolfskin,  with  his  hands 
in  the  forelegs  with  their  artificial  arrangements. 
Then  he  caught  the  terror  in  the  woman's  eyes, 
and  understood. 

"And  this,"  Chip  continued,  giving  a  rough 
shake  of  the  shoulder  to  the  figure  huddled  on  the 
saddle  in  front  of  him,  "is  the  Wolf -woman." 

The  ranch  boss  gave  a  short  laugh. 

"Like  most  of  these  ghost-yarns,"  he  said,  "the 
werewolf  shows  up  as  a  trick  used  by  a  gang  of 
cattle-rustlers  to  cover  their  tracks." 

"But  why,"  asked  Gavan,  turning  directly  to 
the  woman,  "did  you  try  to  dig  up  my  cousin's 
body?" 

The  prisoner's  brown  face,  half  scowling  and 
half  afraid,  gave  no  answer. 

The  sheriff,  scornfully,  gave  the  required  ex- 
planation. 

"You  hadn't  emptied  Blue  Joe's  pockets,"  he 
said.  "You  remember  I  turned  quite  a  little  sum 
of  money  over  to  you  the  next  morning!  This 
woman  probably  saw  the  attack  o'  the  mountain 
lion  an'  saw  you  make  the  grave.  She  never 


CATCHING  THE  WEREWOLF    363 

thought  you  would  come  back  to  the  haunted 
canyon,  an'  figured  on  messin'  up  the  body  so 
that  it  would  look  as  though  it  had  been  torn  by 
a  wild  animal.  Meantime,  she  would  have 
pocketed  the  cash.  You're  a  pretty  creature,  you 
are!"  he  ended. 

The  woman  turned  suddenly  and  tried  to  bite 
the  hand  of  the  man  holding  her. 

The  sheriff  came  a  little  closer  and  looked  into 
her  eyes. 

" Don't  let  her  bite  you,  Chip,"  he  warned, 
"you'd  better  put  a  gag  in  her  mouth." 

"Why?"  asked  the  ranchman,  laughing;  "she 
won't  hurt  me." 

"Babies,"  answered  the  sheriff,  tersely.  "I 
miss  my  guess  if  she  hasn't  been  bitttn  by  a  mad 
wolf  some  time,  an '  got  the  virus.  Once  in  a  long 
while,  people  become  virus-carriers.  I've  often 
thought  that  a  lot  of  those  poor  people  in  the 
Middle  Ages  who  were  burned  to  death  as  were- 
wolves, because  they  confessed  to  havin'  the  witch- 
power  of  turnin'  into  a  wolf  an'  eatin'  human 
flesh,  were  simply  crazed  folk  who  had  been  bitten 
by  wolves  an'  hadn't  died  of  hydrophobia." 

"Do  wolves  go  mad,  like  dogs?"  asked  Gavan; 
"I  never  heard  that." 


364    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

"You  can  just  lay  that  they  do,"  the  sheriff  re- 
turned. "I  remember  once  gettin'  a  telephone 
message  to  go  an'  rescue  a  storekeeper,  in  a  small 
Mexican  village.  A  mad  wolf  had  walked  into  the 
store,  just  as  if  it  had  been  a  dog  belongin'  to 
the  place  an'  started  snappin'  at  the  storekeeper. 
He  didn't  have  a  loaded  gun  in  the  place,  an' 
though  he  managed  to  edge  his  way  to  where  a 
couple  of  revolvers  were  hangin',  all  his  boxes 
of  ammunition  were  closed  and  he  couldn't  get  to 
them. 

"When  I  got  there,  the  storekeeper  was  lyin' 
on  a  top  shelf  in  his  store,  mumblin'  prayers  to 
all  the  saints  in  the  calendar,  because  the  shelves 
were  lightly  nailed  an'  he  was  afraid,  every 
minute,  that  the  nails  would  pull  out  an'  throw 
him  to  the  ground  into  the  wolf's  jaws. 

"As  soon  as  I  came  to  the  door  the  animal 
rushed  at  me,  but  I  stopped  him,  first  shot.  He 
was  mad,  all  right.  No  wolf,  unless  he  had  rabies, 
would  walk  into  a  store  like  that. 

"Yes,  Gavan,  hydrophobia  among  wolves  and 
coyotes  is  somethin'  to  reckon  with.  There  was 
one  very  bad  outbreak  in  Wyoming,  some  years 
ago.  So,  Chip,  if  you  take  my  advice,  you'll  not 
run  any  chances  of  a  bite  from  the  Wolf -woman. 


CATCHING  THE  WEREWOLF     365 

It's  easy  enough  to  make  a  gag  that  won't  hurt 
at  all." 

Then,  turning  to  the  two  cowboys,  the  sheriff 
sent  them  out  with  word  to  the  two  waiting  parties 
that  the  cattle-thieves  were  caught.  That  night, 
however,  two  riders  who  were  unable  to  give  an 
account  of  themselves,  were  caught  spurring  at 
full  speed  from  the  direction  of  Ghost  Canyon, 
and,  afterwards,  were  found  to  belong  to  the  gang. 

Of  the  seven  men  in  the  gang,  two  were  Ameri- 
cans and  five  Mexicans.  Evidently  they  had 
carried  on  their  cattle-stealing  business  for  a 
number  of  years,  but,  as  the  leader  confessed  at 
the  trial,  there  "was  no  money  in  the  business 
since  the  days  of  the  open  range."  It  was  found 
that  the  leader  was  "wanted"  for  an  old  crime 
in  Texas,  which  was  the  true  cause  of  his  having 
taken  up  the  outlaw  life. 

Before  sentencing  them  to  terms  of  prison,  the 
judge  pointed  out  that,  if  they  had  managed  a 
cattle  ranch  for  the  same  number  of  years  with 
the  same  energy  that  they  had  shown  in  steal- 
ing, their  actual  gains  would  have  been  several 
times  as  large.  Cattle-rustling  in  the  West  is 
almost  a  lost  art. 


CHAPTEE  XH 

THE    THBEE-LEGGED   OUTLAW 

GTAVAN  was  an  important  witness  in  the  trial 
of  the  cattle-rustlers  and  his  clear  and  well- 
handled  testimony  as  to  the  tracks  which  he  had 
observed  and  the  means  whereby  he  had  reached 
the  conclusion  that  a  cattle-rustlers'  gang  was 
operating  in  Ghost  Canyon,  earned  him  the  public 
commendation  of  the  judge. 

Not  only  that,  but,  a  few  weeks  after,  he  re- 
ceived a  letter  offering  him  his  expenses  and  a 
stated  sum  per  week  to  try  to  track  an  old  out- 
law wolf,  on  the  Truchas  Mountains,  some  little 
distance  from  the  Taos  Mountains,  but  a  part  of 
the  same  Sangre  de  Cristo  Kange.  There  was  a 
bounty  of  $1,000  on  the  head  of  the  wolf,  which  the 
rancher  stated  would  be  paid  in  full  to  the  boy  if 
he  caught  it,  but  that,  even  if  there  were  no  cap- 
ture, his  time  would  be  well  paid  for,  just  the 
same. 

The  opportunity  was  too  good  to  lose,  for, 
if  there  was  one  thing  that  Gavan  wanted  to  do, 
it  was  to  catch 'an  outlaw  wolf.  The  New  Mexico 
366 


THE  THREE-LEGGED  OUTLAW    367 

chief  of  the  Biological  Survey  had  told  him  that 
there  was  no  animal  in  the  world  so  suspicious  as 
an  old  gray  wolf  which  had  once  been  nipped 
in  a  trap.  Gavan,  remembering  his  experience 
with  the  wolverine,  thought  that  the  latter  could 
outdo  and  out-think  any  other  creature  of  the 
wild.  Now,  he  was  to  test  his  wits  against  "the 
three-legged  outlaw  of  the  Truchas." 

This  time  Gavan  was  alone.  He  was  to  have  no 
help  from  Quick  Feather,  none  from  friends  or 
neighbors.  He  was  in  unfamiliar  country.  With 
a  handful  of  traps,  and  his  rifle,  he  was  set  in 
the  middle  of  a  range  of  mountains  and  told  to 
find  a  wolf. 

In  this  difficulty,  experience  told. 

The  cattleman,  who  had  hired  him,  wanted  to 
take  the  lad  at  once  to  the  place  where  the  tracks 
had  last  been  seen  but  Gavan  shook  his  head. 

"That  isn't  any  good,"  he  said.  "You  can't 
trail  a  wolf.  Maybe,  if  there  were  a  slight  snow- 
fall on  the  ground,  or  if  all  the  world  was  covered 
with  dust,  it  could  be  done.  But.  from  what  I've 
seen  and  read,  it's  only  in  books  that  the  'wily 
trapper  sees  a  mark  on  the  ground  and  tracks  the 
animal  to  its  den.'  It  sounds  great — but  things 
aren't  done  that  way." 


368     WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

"What  d'  you  figure  on  doin',  then?"  asked 
the  cattleman. 

"First  of  all,"  said  the  boy,  "I  want  to  study 
the  lay  of  the  country.  A  wolf  won't  always  fol- 
low a  certain  trail,  but  he'll  generally  keep  a  kind 
of  a  route.  An  old  outlaw,  Mr.  Winon  told  me, 
often  travels  forty  to  sixty  miles  in  a  night,  and 
doesn  't  always  go  in  the  same  direction,  by  a  long 
shot.  So  I've  got  a  circle,  probably  seventy  or 
eighty  miles  across,  in  which  to  hunt  for  him,  and 
it's  no  use  starting  until  I  get  the  hang  of  that 
circle.  Our  friend  the  'three-legged-outlaw'  has 
got  a  certain  system  of  trails  of  his  own,  that's 
sure.  Before  I  can  do  a  thing  in  trapping,  I've 
got  to  find  those  out. ' ' 

The  cattleman  leaned  back  and  looked  at  the 
boy. 

"Youngster,"  he  said,  "I  believe  you've  got 
brains  in  your  head.  Everybody,  so  far,  that  I've 
had  startin'  out  after  that  old  outlaw  has  wanted 
to  trail  him.  They  haven't  any  one  of  them 
succeeded.  You  talk  as  if  you  had  some  sort  of 
system." 

"Well,"  the  boy  said,  "Mr.  Winon  of  the 
Biological  Survey,  taught  me  all  I  know  about 
catching  coyotes,  and  I  guess  the  wolf  is  the  same 


THE  THREE-LEGGED  OUTLAW     369 

problem,  only  a  whole  lot  harder.  That's  all  the 
system  I  have.  I'll  let  you  know  as  soon  as  I  have 
anything  definite  to  say." 

Settling  his  traps  and  affairs  in  the  little  tent 
and  kit  which  he  had  brought  over  on  the  old 
pack-pony,  Gavan  started  an  exploration  of  the 
territory.  In  general,  it  was  not  unlike  the 
character  of  the  Taos  Mountains,  and  remember- 
ing the  training  that  he  had  received  from  Winon 
and  from  McLeod,  as  well  as  the  topographical 
teaching  he  had  received  from  the  Forest  Super- 
visor two  years  before,  when  he  had  commenced  to 
dig  the  irrigation  ditch,  soon  the  boy  began  to 
trace  the  lay  of  the  creek  valleys  and  the  general 
relation  of  the  mountain  peaks  one  to  the  other. 

On  one  of  the  lower  saddle-backs  of  the  range 
he  sat  for  some  time,  motionless,  studying  the 
landscape.  Apparently,  there  was  neither  sound 
nor  motion  over  the  wide  wilderness,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  a  sharp-shinned  hawk  soaring  in  the 
blue.  But,  as  the  boy  knew  well,  along  the  secret 
trails  leading  through  the  thicket  and  skirting 
the  bowlders,  life  went  on  with  an  intensity  all 
the  deeper  and  more  stringent  for  the  seal  of 
silence  laid  upon  it.  The  small  fugitive  kindreds 
moved  noiselessly  about  their  affairs,  foraging, 


370    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

mating,  sometimes  even  playing,  but  ever  watch- 
ful, a  sleepless  vigilance  the  price  of  each  hour's 
breath,  while,  even  more  furtive,  but  more  inter- 
mittent in  their  watchfulness,  the  hunting  and  the 
blood-loving  kindred  followed  the  trails. 

Squirrels  and  chipmunks,  the  most  fearless  of 
the  tree-creatures,  showed  themselves  from  time 
to  time,  but  the  wood  rats  lay  hid;  the  pocket- 
gophers  and  the  prairie  dogs  ran  from  their  holes, 
but  the  meadow-mice  were  still;  far  down  the 
valley  could  be  heard  the  sonorous  smack  as  a 
beaver's  tail  gave  the  warning  signal  of  secrecy, 
but  the  porcupine  ambled  unconcernedly  about  his 
business,  knowing  the  protection  of  his  terrible 
spines;  the  Manzana  and  Rocky  Mountain  cotton- 
tail rabbits  nibbled  watchfully,  knowing  that 
almost  every  carnivorous  creature  looked  on  them 
as  prey ;  while,  alone  of  all  creatures,  the  Arizona 
skunk  slowly  wandered  from  his  hollow  log  in 
search  of  grasshoppers,  field-mice  or  ground- 
birds'  eggs,  secure  in  the  knowledge  that  every 
carnivore  would  give  him  a  wide  berth. 

The  Airedales  lay  at  the  boy 's  feet  blinking  and 
sunning  themselves,  for  Gavan  had  brought  them 
for  company  rather  than  for  the  especial  needs 
of  the  trip.  He  knew  that  the  dogs  would  be  will- 


track   o      animal    about    ^0  ll»s 


372     WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

ing  enough  to  trail  a  big  gray  wolf,  but  unequal 
to  the  task.  Even  a  three-legged  wolf  could  lead 
the  dogs  such  a  chase  that  their  footpads  would 
be  worn  out  over  the  rough  going  which  the 
tougher  footpads  of  a  wolf  will  sustain.  More- 
over, should  the  gray  wolf  turn  and  show  fight,  it 
would  be  the  last  fight  for  the  dogs.  Russian 
wolf-hounds,  even,  unless  in  a  large  pack,  cannot 
tackle  an  eighty-pound  gray  wolf. 

Gavan  had  a  wholesome  respect  for  the  timber- 
wolf.  He  had  seen  powerful  horses  and  cattle 
hamstrung  and  killed,  and  he  knew  well  that  a 
wolf's  bite,  unless  it  caused  an  open  bleeding 
wound,  means  death  by  blood-poisoning  to  any 
animal  that  suffers  it.  He  knew  he  was  dealing 
with  an  animal  that  can  live  on  one  full  meal  for 
a  week,  and  which,  unlike  the  coyote,  will  not 
allow  hunger  to  steal  away  his  wits.  He  knew 
that,  in  the  North,  timber-wolves  had  not  hesitated 
to  attack  men,  and  that,  if  the  latter  took  to  the 
trees,  the  wolves  would  wait  below  until  the  man 
fell  to  the  ground  from  hunger  or  exposure. 

There  were  the  mountains.  Somewhere,  among 
those  swelling  heights,  was  hidden  the  wolf. 
Along  some  trail,  that  night,  he  would  begin  his 
tireless  search  for  food,  never  twice  in  the  same 


THE  THREE-LEGGED  OUTLAW    373 

place,  rarely  twice  in  the  same  way.  Where  was 
that  trail? 

Gavan  did  not  belittle  his  task.  He  was  to 
tackle  an  animal  which  could  smell  the  iron  of 
a  trap  in  the  ground  as  surely  as  a  truffle-seek- 
ing dog  can  distinguish  the  infinitesimally  small 
difference  in  smell  between  the  various  forms  of 
fungi,  two  or  three  feet  underground.  He  was  to 
outwit  an  animal  which  could  scan  the  ground 
as  it  trotted  along  and  tell  whether  a  grain  of 
dust  had  been  disturbed  or  a  blade  of  grass 
trodden  aside.  He  was  to  catch  an  experienced 
traveler  of  the  wild  whose  eight  years  of  life  had 
been  ceaselessly  devoted  to  the  lesson  of  learning 
to  fear  anything  and  everything  strange. 

The  boy  had  learned,  by  now,  the  wide  differ- 
ence between  the  kind  of  trapping  which  the 
Biological  Survey  had  undertaken  to  do,  and  that 
of  the  average  trapper  for  fur.  He  knew  that 
whereas,  in  New  Mexico,  when  the  Biological 
Survey  began  its  work,  four  years  before,  at  least 
a  thousand  timber-wolves  were  roaming  the  state, 
not  more  than  half  a  dozen  cattle-killing  wolves 
existed  now. 

Blind  chance  had  nothing  to  do  with  his  present 
quest.  He  could  not  set  a  trap,  on  the  chance 


374    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

that  some  passing  animal  might  blunder  in.  He 
was  not  looking  for  the  blunderer.  He  was  after 
one  definite  creature,  one  outlaw,  one  criminal  of 
the  wolf  world.  In  a  sense,  all  gray  wolves  in 
civilized  sections  must  be  exterminated,  for  the 
gray  wolf  is  a  killer  by  nature  and  habit,  but 
there  was  only  one  gray  wolf  whose  hide  Gavan 
coveted,  that  of  the  "  three-legged  outlaw  of  the 
Truchas  Mountains." 

A  week  later  he  went  back  to  the  cattleman. 

''Caught  Three-legs  yet?"  the  latter  asked 
jocularly. 

"I'm  just  about  ready  to  begin,"  the  lad  re- 
plied, seriously.  "I  just  wanted  to  ask  you  if 
I've  got  the  lay  of  the  land  here,  right." 

He  laid  down  on  the  table  a  rough  drawing  of 
the  country,  done  in  topographical  contours,  as  the 
Forest  Supervisor  had  taught  him. 

"As  I  see  it,"  said  the  boy,  "there's  one  stream 
flowing  this  way,  with  a  little  canyon  running  into 
it,  which  meanders  down  between  a  bald  and  a 
heavy  yellow  pine  slope — "  and  thus  proceeded 
to  describe  the  section,  as  he  had  judged  it  from 
his  reconnaissance.  The  ranchman  followed  him 
with  interest,  correcting  him  from  time  to  time, 


t.'ourtesy  of  "  Outing  "  Magazine. 

A    FIGHT   AGAINST   AWFUL   ODDS. 

Once  roused  by  blood,  a  pack  of  grey  wolves  of  the  Far  North,  in 

winter  time,  will  even  dare  to  attack  man.    On  foot  and 

without  firearms,  there  is  little  hope  of  escape. 


THE  THREE-LEGGED  OUTLAW    375 

and  giving  him  the  names  of  the  peaks  and  rivers, 
which  Gavan  noted  down  in  his  sketch  map. 

"Now,"  said  the  boy,  "so  far  as  I  understand, 
Mr.  Three-Legs  has  been  seen  about  all  over  this 
stretch." 

"Exactly,"  said  the  cattleman,  sarcastically. 
"It's  quite  easy.  He's  there.  All  you  have  to 
do,  is  to  find  him." 

Gavan  ignored  the  sarcasm. 

"Now,"  he  continued,  "if  this  were  a  question 
of  a  cattle-killing  bear,  we'd  have  to  take  up  the 
possibility  of  travel  over  slopes  heavily  covered 
with  fallen  timber  or  unusually  rocky.  But  with 
a  wolf,  it  isn't  so.  A  wolf  doesn't  hunt  through 
fallen  timber,  and  he  hates  stones.  I  should  think 
a  wolf  with  one  leg  a  little  lame,  would  be  even 
more  particular  to  travel  an  easy  trail.  Be- 
sides," the  boy  continued,  "Mr.  Winon  told  me 
that  once  a  wolf  takes  to  killing  cattle  and  sheep, 
he's  apt  to  find  it  easier  work  than  chasing  wild 
animals  and  will  stick  to  that  end  of  it. ' ' 

"Three-legs  is  lookin'  after  the  sheep,  sure 
enough,"  the  owner  of  the  ranch  grimly  declared. 

"All  right,  then,"  the  boy  continued;  "it's  no 
use  working  out  a  trail  between  the  sections  of 


376    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

the  range  where  there  aren't  many  cattle,  but 
rather  between  the  places  where  cattle  and  sheep 
do  gather.  Now,  that's  what  I  want  from  you. 
Can  you  give  me  an  idea  whereabouts  the  largest 
bunches  of  stock  are  gathered?" 

The  cattleman  stared  at  the  youngster  in  sur- 
prise. 

"You  act  like  an  old  hand  instead  of  a  kid," 
he  said.  "  Where  did  you  get  all  that  dopes'!" 

"I  got  most  of  it  from  Mr.  Winon,  of  the  Bio- 
logical Survey,  and  one  of  his  hunters,"  the  boy 
answered,  " although  an  old  Indian,  who's  been 
one  of  my  best  friends  all  my  life,  taught  me  a 
good  many  things,  too." 

"Well,  you  learnt  them,"  the  other  ranchman 
answered,  emphatically.  "It's  queer  that  you 
know  Winon  so  well,  for  I  got  a  letter  from  him 
the  other  day.  I  wrote  him,  oh,  I  guess  it  must 
have  been  a  month  ago,  tellin'  him  about  this 
Three-legs,  because  I  know  he  likes  to  keep  posted 
on  every  wolf  in  the  State,  just  like  the  captain 
of  a  ship  at  sea  wants  to  know  where  the  ice- 
bergs are.  An',  just  yesterday,  he  wrote  me  say- 
in'  that  he  would  try  to  come  up  here  in  a  few 
days." 

Gravan's  eyes  sparkled  with  a  sudden  zest. 


THE  THREE-LEGGED  OUTLAW    377 

1  'Wouldn't  I  like  to  beat  him  to  it!"  he  ex- 
claimed. 

"Well,"  said  the  cattleman,  "maybe  you  will," 
and  he  turned  to  mark  on  the  boy's  chart  the 
localities  where  the  cattle  generally  browsed. 
Then,  together,  they  studied  the  map  so  made, 
and  Gavan  pointed  out  that,  owing  to  the  lay  of 
the  mountains  and  valleys,  the  lines  of  travel 
that  the  outlaw  lobo  would  have  to  follow  must 
be  along  natural  lines. 

"A  wolf,"  he  justly  said,  "isn't  going  to  run 
up  one  side  of  a  hill  and  run  down  the  other  side 
of  it,  when  he  can  keep  on  the  level  by  going  a 
little  round.  I  wouldn  't  wonder  if  we  found  that 
Three-legs  had  a  pretty  regular  lane  of  travel." 

"Maybe,"  agreed  the  stock-raiser,  "but  even 
after  you've  narrowed  down  the  field  the  way  you 
have,  I  reckon,  putting  all  those  lines  o'  travel 
end  to  end,  you've  a  thousand  miles  o'  line." 

"Sure,"  the  boy  agreed,  "but  that  thousand 
miles  of  line  has  some  commanding  points,  and 
some  of  them  intersect.  If  I  can  find  those  trails, 
and  especially  if  I  can  find  out  where  they  inter- 
sect, I  might  set  traps  there. ' ' 

"What  bait?"  asked  the  cattleman,  for  he  was 
anxious  to  find  out  the  boy's  methods. 


378    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

' '  None ! ' '  declared  the  boy.  < '  What 's  the  use  of 
stale  bait  to  a  wolf  who  makes  his  dinner  off  fresh 
mutton?" 

"Give  him  mutton!"  came  the  prompt  reply. 
1  'I'll  let  you  have  all  the  sheep  you  want." 

4 'No  good  at  all,"  responded  Gavan.  "Sheep 
don't  hang  around  alone.  If  I  should  stake  a 
lamb  near  the  trap,  Three-legs  would  make  a  wide 
circle  around  that  lamb,  put  his  head  on  one  side 
and  say  to  himself : 

"  'I  never  saw  a  little  lamb,  which  had  lost  its 
mother,  that  didn't  run  around  and  look  for  her. 
This  lamb  doesn't  run  around.  Something  queer 
about  that  lamb!  This  is  no  place  for  me!' 

"And  not  only  wouldn't  Mr.  Three-legs  tackle 
that  lamb,  but  he  would  change  his  trail  so  as  to 
avoid  the  place  where  something  queer  had  hap- 
pened once.  So,  instead  of  gaining  anything, 
we'd  only  lose  the  one  piece  of  information  that 
we  had  found  out,  namely,  where  his  trail  was." 

"How  about  scent  bait?"  asked  the  cattleman. 

"That  might  work  with  a  young  wolf,"  the  boy 
answered,  "but  it  doesn't  do  much  good  with  an 
old  one.  A  young  wolf  is  interested  in  girl 
wolves,  and  he  likes  to  know  when  they  are  around 
and  where  they've  gone.  He  wants  to  have  the 


THE  THREE-LEGGED  OUTLAW    379 

gossip  of  the  neighborhood,  too,  like  a  coyote, 
and  you  can  sometimes  catch  him  on  the  smell  tele- 
phone. But  with  an  old  outlaw  wolf,  I'm  not  sure 
that  it  would  do.  Even  if  the  scent  bait  were  so 
cleverly  handled  that  Mr.  Three-legs  was  fooled 
into  believing  the  intruder  another  wolf,  he  might 
keep  away  because  he 's  crippled,  or  he  might  gen- 
erally be  a  grouchy  chap  and  decide  to  go  where 
he  wouldn't  be  interfered  with.*' 

"Now  you're  talkin'  of  Three-legs  just  as  if 
he  were  a  man,  an'  thinkin'  in  a  man's  way," 
retorted  the  stock-raiser. 

"Mr.  "Winon  told  me,"  answered  Gavan,  quot- 
ing his  constant  authority,  "that  you've  got  to  as- 
sume to  a  gray  wolf  as  much  woods-brain  as  you 
have.  Quick  Feather  told  me,  that  a  wolf  has 
got  a  lot  more  wolf-brain  than  a  man  has.  So 
I'm  trying  to  figure  it  out  with  both  kinds  of 
brain." 

"You'll  need  'em  both  for  Three-legs,"  the 
cattleman  answered. 

With  his  map  corrected  and  made  out,  and  his 
trail  locations  clearly  in  his  head,  Gavan  went 
back  for  a  continued  study  of  the  mountains.  He 
took  no  traps,  at  first,  nothing  but  his  canvas  sheet, 
and  if  ever  he  left  his  pony's  back  to  examine  the 


380    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

ground,  he  did  so  from  the  canvas.  He  ate  his 
lunch  in  the  saddle,  never  making  fire,  and  was 
careful  not  to  allow  a  piece  of  paper  to  fly  away 
nor  a  particle  of  cooked  food  to  fall.  The  crumbs, 
fish-bones,  and  suchlike  he  wrapped  up  and  put  in 
his  pocket,  not  throwing  them  away  until  he  was 
near  his  camp. 

"I  don't  intend  to  give  Mr.  Three-legs  any 
warning,"  he  said  to  himself. 

At  last,  by  a  careful  study  of  all  the  possible 
passages  in  and  through  the  mountains,  Gavan 
decided  upon  four  trails,  each  of  these  evidently 
used  by  a  wolf,  probably  the  outlaw,  and  little, 
if  ever,  used  by  cattle. 

Along  these  trails  Gavan  decided  to  make  his 
blind  sets. 

Now,  if  ever,  the  minutest  care  was  needed ! 

His  traps  had  been  buried  in  the  earth,  ever 
since  he  had  come  to  the  Truchas  Mountains,  for 
although  many  trappers  declare  that  an  animal 
cannot  smell  iron,  Gavan  remembered  that  Mr. 
Winon  had  said  to  him  that  it  was  impossible  to  be 
too  careful,  and  that  a  large  part  of  the  art  of 
trapping  consisted  in  a  most  scrupulous  attention 
to  detail. 

"The  difference  between  trapping  the  way  the 


THE  THREE-LEGGED  OUTLAW    381 

Biological  Survey  wants  it  done,"  the  expert  had 
once  said,  "and  the  way  that  old-time  trappers 
used  to  do  it,  doesn't  lie  in  the  kind  of  traps,  nor 
in  the  cleverness  of  the  trappers.  It's  the  dif- 
ference between  a  work  of  art  and  a  clumsy  job. 
Good  modern  trapping  consists  in  knowing  just 
exactly  what  ought  to  be  done,  and  doing  it  with 
the  same  care  and  patience,  every  time." 

Gavan  had  no  intention  of  putting  Three-legs 
on  his  guard  by  any  little  slip-up.  One  trap  set 
too  near  the  surface,  so  that  a  strong  wind  might 
blow  off  the  earth  and  expose  it,  one  trap  with 
the  pan  set  too  lightly,  so  that  a  coyote  or  a  rabbit 
might  spring  it ;  one  trap  in  a  cattle  track  where  it 
might  be  set  off  by  a  blundering  steer;  one  trap 
in  a  grass  set,  disturbing  sod  so  that  a  wolf  might 
be  suspicious  and  worry  round  till  he  found  the 
chain  or  the  trap ;  one  careless  piece  of  forgetful- 
ness  that  might  leave  a  human  smell;  any  one 
thing  might  spoil  all  his  work,  for  Three-legs 
would  discover  that  an  enemy  was  on  his  track, 
and  he  would  not  only  be  warier  than  ever,  but 
probably  would  move,  unknown,  to  another  section 
of  the  mountains. 

With  plenty  of  time  at  his  disposal,  the  boy  only 
set  four  traps  a  day.  Each  trap  was  sunk  just 


382     WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

the  right  distance  below  the  ground,  each  had  its 
springs  turned  slightly  so  as  to  give  the  greater 
snugness  to  the  jaws,  each  had  upon  the  pan  a 
weather-beaten  piece  of  old  cloth  that  had  lain 
out  in  all  weathers  and  had  no  smell.  Before 
he  left  each  set,  Gavan  spent  a  good  five  minutes 
examining  it  to  see  whether  the  most  scrupulous 
inspection  could  discover  any  trace  of  the  work. 

In  five  days,  he  had  twenty  traps  down,  all  in 
blind  sets.  Nowhere  was  there  meat  or  scent  to 
attract  the  animal.  Nowhere,  did  he  move  a  stick 
or  stone  in  such  a  way  that  a  wolf  would  have 
to  put  his  foot  in  the  trap.  That  was  often  a  good 
plan,  Gavan  knew,  but  he  would  take  no  chances 
with  Three-legs. 

These  twenty  traps  covered  a  ride  of  over  thirty 
miles,  the  utmost  limit  that  the  boy  could  ride 
on  each  alternate  day.  Moreover,  he  had  placed 
each  set  in  such  a  place  that  it  could  be  seen  from 
far  away,  and  thus  it  was  not  necessary  for  him 
to  ride  close  to  the  traps  to  see  if  they  had  been 
sprung.  He  re-shod  his  horse — for  he  had  taken 
the  shoes  off  when  making  his  reconnaissances  of 
the  country,  lest  the  smell  of  the  steel  should  sug- 
gest something  to  Three-legs — and,  with  a  field- 


THE  THREE-LEGGED  OUTLAW    383 

glass,  made  his  rounds  daily,  never  going  near 
the  wolf -trails  which  he  had  discovered. 

Day  after  day  passed  fruitlessly.  The  boy  was 
successful,  in  that  no  animal  touched  or  sprang 
his  traps,  but  there  was  never  the  sight  of  a  giant 
wolf  struggling  in  them. 

On  the  ninth  day,  returning  to  camp,  Gavan 
reached  one  of  his  usual  lookouts  and  reached  for 
his  field-glass. 

His  hand  stopped  midway. 

Something  was  moving  down  there  on  the  trail 
beside  the  fallen  rock ! 

His  hands  shaking  with  excitement,  Gavan 
raised  and  leveled  his  field-glasses. 

A  wolf !     Surely  a  wolf. 

A  moment  later — 

11  Caught!"  he  cried,  and  shouted  with  delight. 

Then,  almost  forgetting  prudence  in  his  eager- 
ness, for  he  feared  every  minute  that  the  wolf 
might  break  away — though  it  was  a  No.  41/£  trap 
with  a  jaw-spread  of  eight  inches — Gavan  set  his 
pony  down  the  steep  mountain-side. 

As  long  as  the  wolf  was  in  sight,  he  was  con- 
tent, though  his  heart  was  beating  fast ;  but  when 
the  foliage  hid  the  point  in  the  trail,  he  could 


384    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

scarcely  keep  from  using  the  spurs,  his  fears  of 
the  outlaw's  escape  grew  to  such  a  height. 

At  last,  at  long  last,  the  slope  was  descended, 
and  Gavan  struck  across  the  short  flat  at  a  full 
gallop,  his  rifle  in  his  hand,  ready  to  jump  off  and 
shoot,  if  necessary. 

But  the  trap  held. 

This  was  no  coyote  to  slink  to  the  farthest  end 
of  the  chain  on  the  approach  of  an  enemy! 

The  big  gray  wolf  growled,  and  advanced  as 
far  as  the  chain  would  allow,  showing  his  teeth 
savagely. 

Gavan,  on  foot,  his  rifle  ready,  came  forward 
slowly,  admiringly. 

Whether  Three-legs  or  no,  this  was  a  veritable 
timber-wolf!  This  was  the  gray  scourge! 

Well  could  the  boy  realize  that  even  a  full- 
grown  horse  or  steer  might  suffer  from  the  fangs 
of  such  a  brute,  standing  5  feet  3  inches  from 
root  (not  tip)  of  tail  to  the  extremity  of  the  nose, 
29y2  inches  high  to  the  top  of  the  shoulders,  with 
a  girth  about  the  body  of  34  inches.  Its  weight 
was  over  a  hundred  pounds.1 

i  Accurate  measurements  of  timber  wolves  vary  widely.  This 
specimen  was  measured  by  the  author  in  Calgary,  Canada.  These 
figures  would  be  a  little  large  for  a  wolf  caught  as  far  south  as 
New  Mexico. 


Courtesy  nf"  Outing"  Magazine. 

TIMBER  WOLF  CAUGHT  IN  TRAP. 

Though  rarer  than  coyotes,  gray  wolves  are  numerous  throughout  the 
United  States,  especially  in  the  west  and  north. 


Courtesy  of  U.  S.  Forest  Service. 

WHERE  THE  MARE  MUST  WATCH  HER  COLT  EVERY  MINUTE. 
The  favorite  food  of  the  gray  wolf  is  horseflesh,  and  small  hunting-packs 
cause  great  losses  to  bands  of  horses  on  the  open  range.     A 
straggling  foal  is  sure  to  be  picked  up,  and  oven  full- 
grown  animals  are  not  immune  from  night  attacks. 


THE  THREE-LEGGED  OUTLAW    385 

The  boy  came  closer  and  saw  that  the  left  fore- 
foot— it  was  the  right  fore-foot  which  was  held 
in  the  trap — had  once  before  been  pinched,  and 
though,  evidently,  the  leg  was  as  serviceable  as 
ever,  the  toes  were  bunched  and  deformed. 

This  was  Three-legs,  without  a  doubt. 

A  desire,  so  violent  as  almost  to  be  reckless, 
took  the  boy,  to  bring  the  gray  wolf  back  alive, 
as  he  had  done  the  wolverine,  but  better  sense 
prevailed.  Choking  back  a  lump  in  his  throat — 
for  it  seemed  like  murder  to  kill  an  animal  in  a 
trap — Gavan  set  his  rifle  to  his  shoulder,  took 
careful  aim,  and  fired. 

Three-legs  fell  as  a  stone  falls  from  a  cliff. 

Gavan  waited  a  few  minutes  before  advancing. 
Such  a  foe  was  not  to  be  approached  temerari- 
ously. 

He  took  out  his  skinning-knife,  and  then  halted. 

Why  not  take  the  animal  back  whole,  where  it 
could  be  weighed? 

He  went  over  to  his  pony,  and  led  the  animal 
to  a  tree,  near  to  the  dead  wolf,  the  horse  whinny- 
ing and  trembling  with  fear,  and  ever  and  anon 
trying  to  jerk  away  from  his  master.  But  Gavan 
was  expecting  this,  and  held  firm.  He  tied  the 
horse  to  the  tree  by  the  halter,  and  to  make 


386    WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

doubly  sure,  made  a  second  fastening  with  his 
lariat.  Then  he  put  the  hobbles  on,  in  case  a 
furious  jerk  should  break  the  halter  itself. 

By  now  the  wolf  was  surely  dead,  but  Gavan 
did  not  release  the  foot  from  the  trap.  No,  he 
wanted  to  show  the  wolf,  with  the  trap  still  on 
his  foot.  Using  his  small  ax,  he  dug  up  the 
stake. 

But  how  to  get  the  beast  on  the  horse  I  A  hun- 
dred-pound lift  was  more  than  the  boy  could  man- 
age. At  last  he  bethought  him  of  a  plan.  Cutting 
down  two  trees,  he  made  a  sort  of  horse-stall, 
under  a  good-sized  tree.  Then  he  fastened  the 
lariat  to  the  wolf,  untied  the  pony,  and  made  the 
latter  pull  the  dead  wolf  near  to  this  tree.  He 
then  retied  the  horse,  as  firmly  as  before,  in  the 
impromptu  stall,  and  again  hobbled  him. 

Then,  taking  the  lariat,  he  threw  one  end  of  it 
over  a  branch,  and  cutting  a  forked  and  pointed 
stick  about  eight  feet  high,  he  stuck  this  into  the 
root  of  the  tree  and  under  the  armpit  of  the  wolf, 
and  commenced  to  pull.  The  body  of  the  wolf  rose 
upright  on  the  forked  stick,  until  the  latter  was 
straight,  and  then,  with  one  more  pull,  the  forked 
stick  fell  forward,  landing  the  body  of  the  wolf 


THE  THREE-LEGGED  OUTLAW    387 

fairly  across  the  haunches  of  the  horse,  right  be- 
hind the  saddle. 

Followed  then  as  pretty  an  exhibition  of  kicking 
as  Gavan  had  ever  seen,  but,  before  the  pony  had 
succeeded  in  freeing  himself  from  the  wolf,  Gavan 
had  snatched  a  couple  of  turns  of  the  lariat  around 
the  body  of  the  wolf.  The  pony,  usually  a  quiet 
and  much  ridden  beast,  soon  quieted  down,  though 
still  trembling  violently. 

Gavan  fastened  the  body  of  Three  Legs  so  that 
an  outlaw  bronc  could  not  have  freed  himself  from 
the  burden,  and  then  leaped  into  the  saddle,  break- 
ing out  in  joyous  yells  every  once  in  a  while. 

At  the  ranch-house  he  met  the  cattleman,  who 
could  barely  contain  himself,  when  he  saw  Gavan 
come  up  at  a  full  gallop  with  the  body  of  the  giant 
wolf  slung  across  the  pony's  back. 

"Who  do  you  suppose  is  here?"  he  said  at  last, 
when  the  whole  story  had  been  told  to  him  in 
detail. 

"Mr.  Winon?"  queried  the  boy,  hopefully. 

The  stock-raiser  nodded. 

"Don't  say  anything  to  him!"  said  the  boy. 
"Can't  I  go  right  in!" 

The  cattleman  grinned,  helped  the  boy  unfasten 


388     WITH  THE  U.  S.  TRAPPERS 

the  body  of  the  wolf  and  carried  it  with  him  to  the 
threshold  of  the  ranch-house. 

Then  Gavan  burst  open  the  door  and  plunged  in, 
dragging  after  him,  with  many  a  grunt,  the  body 
of  the  wolf. 

"Do  I  get  a  job?"  he  burst  out. 

The  Biological  Survey  expert  started  at  the  cry, 
and,  turning  around,  saw  the  flushed  face  of  the 
boy  and  the  figure  of  the  giant  wolf  on  the  floor. 

"Is  it  'Three-Legs  of  the  TruchasT  "  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  answered  'the  cattleman  from  behind. 
"It's  Three-Legs  right  enough!" 

"You  bet  you  get  the  job,"  came  the  answer. 
"Consider  yourself  a  U.  S.  Government  Trapper 
from  this  day  on !" 


THE   END 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


AUG  7     1956 

FEB211991 

'^M^ 

4HKJANU;! 

mi  0  *  '01 


Form  L9-100m-9,'52(A3105)444 


PZ7       Rolt-nheeler  - 


R659D  -i-ne  boy  wren  i-ne 
U.  S.  trappers. 


AUG  7 


L  006  060  A 


PZ7 
R659b 


